<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>The Velleity of Vendredi by MelanijaParadis</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25477882">The Velleity of Vendredi</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelanijaParadis/pseuds/MelanijaParadis'>MelanijaParadis</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Stelliform Chronicles [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Charmed (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Babysitting, Bathtub Sex, Birth Control, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Feminist Themes, Getting Back Together, Inspired by Music, Just Add Kittens, Magical Realism, Mistakes, Pizza, Sad with a Happy Ending, Slow Romance, Social Justice, Workplace Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 12:27:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>20,757</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25477882</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelanijaParadis/pseuds/MelanijaParadis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Partly inspired by Taylor Swift's "Folklore" album, this is a brief spin-off of my previous works "On Lorenz Theory &amp; Love" and "Of Ginger &amp; Spice," from Maggie's perspective. Post-Parker wedding debacle, Maggie is humiliated at the pharmacy when she tries to buy the morning-after pill; Harry comes to her rescue, reassuring her that she will find love someday. Six months later, Maggie and Jordan go to SafeSpace prom, briefly date, then break up. One year later, Jordan walks in on Maggie kissing coworker Martin, a satyr, during a business trip happy hour and tries to figure out his feelings. Maggie is injured on the job and later that night, Jordan bakes pizza for her and helps her babysit her infant niece Maya. Time passes; Maggie saves Jordan's job, and they pick up where they left off; he explains why he calls her "Vera" instead of "Maggie." They bake unicorn cupcakes with now three-year-old Maya. Eventually, at long last, they have their own unique millennial happily-ever-after.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Harry Greenwood/Macy Vaughn, Jordan Chase/Maggie Vera</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Stelliform Chronicles [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1813234</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Jagged Little Pill</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>1 Jagged Little Pill</p><p>
  <em>“Go on, live it out, get it all over…Came in as you were, dressed in sheep’s clothing/Laid down, closed my eyes, let myself open/These stars, going out, going out over…Tell me now, the story of the way things used to be…”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>-These Stars (February Patreon Perk), song and lyrics by Meghan Tonjes</em>
</p><p>
  <em>9 pm, Several Blocks from Phi Delta Upsilon Fraternity House, Hilltowne University, Michigan</em>
</p><p>Tears coursed down her cheeks as she clutched fistfuls of her gauzy burgundy floor-length gown, her bosom heaving as she sprinted down the sidewalk for dear life in her two-inch-high heels. The sting of the ebony mascara hitting her delicate eyes, her smudged sienna eyeliner intermingling with the salty heat of her despair, and once-golden iridescent eyeshadow—the sordid appearance of her physicality at present—did nothing to divert her anguished flight from what was supposed to be, by all accounts, the happiest day of her life.</p><p>
  <em>The blue luminescent apples, just one bite to make oneself impervious to magic in any form, and the inability of Harry to heal the man she thought she knew—who turned out to be a wolf—a wolf in sheep’s clothing! </em>
</p><p>Maggie ran for another several blocks, gritting her teeth as her heel hit a particularly stubborn piece of stray pavement, then turned right and clawed her way through an evergreen thicket, eventually cutting across a tucked-away residential neighborhood to the stained-glass doorway of Vera Manor, her hands shaking as she inserted the heavy, ornate key into the brassy keyhole. She stared up at the cloudless sky and its numerous twinkling, rhinestone stars, glittering ostentatiously as if to taunt her in her agony.</p><p>
  <em>For once in her life, she was going to be the first at something—something that neither Mel nor Macy had accomplished so far. Perhaps her own reasons for marrying Parker hadn’t been entirely free of sibling rivalry, and the desire to be seen as an adult, at last—but she hadn’t expected such public humiliation, defeat, and utter disaster. And who knew where Parker had gone.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>9:15 pm, Upstairs Bathroom, Vera Manor</em>
</p><p>Maggie scrutinized her features in the glare of the bathroom mirror, her gown hanger, cosmetics bag, and various hairpins scattered about with the odd wedding favor of silk-wrapped, bagged candied almonds. <em>Nuptial detritus scattered this way and that, as if to mock her on her abject failure as a blushing Lohengrin bride. </em>She placed a dab of lotion combined with oily Vaseline on the tip of her still-trembling index finger, manually sweeping away the evidence of the evening’s earlier debacle. Once she had scrubbed her face with warm soap and water, she surveyed herself once more. <em>Much better. </em>The mascara had been washed off, the golden iridescent eyeshadow was but an imprudent memory, and any evidence of eyeliner had disappeared, never to be seen again. <em>But then, she remembered her intimate, raw moment with Parker just before the wedding, in which they had discussed the possibility of children, and froze. Shit. She understood in that moment what she had to do.</em></p><p>
  <em>9 am, Next Morning, Drugstore, Pharmacy Section</em>
</p><p>Dark glasses hid her bloodshot eyes, as she shuffled into the drugstore with her faux leather coat and navy blue jeggings, praying that her would-be disguise would help maintain her anonymity, not to mention the tiniest shred of dignity she had left of her shattered soul. She checked her phone—<em>what was it called again? Levonorgestrel. Or, Plan B. It was a “just in case” mechanism to make sure she had zero risk of falling pregnant—it was not an abortion.</em></p><p>Maggie read the online description of Plan B. “<em>Yes, it's possible to get pregnant, even after taking the morning-after pill. The morning-after pill (AKA emergency contraception) can help prevent pregnancy when you take it after having unprotected sex. But, it won't prevent pregnancy for any sex you may have after taking it.” Good to know, </em>she thought to herself as she bravely stepped up to the counter, noticing that Alanis Morissette’s “<em>Jagged Little Pill” </em>was playing in the overhead radio. <em>How very appropriate.</em></p><p>
  <em>9:02 am, Drugstore, Pharmacy Counter</em>
</p><p>She was sure the pharmacy technician had seen her—she’d been waiting for what seemed an eternity. As she glanced surreptitiously behind her, she noticed other sleep-deprived girls her age, though nobody made any attempt at conversation or eye contact. <em>They were all there for the same unspoken reason. </em>Maggie saw a few familiar faces from when she participated in sorority rush earlier, their fingers thumbing through the latest tabloid magazines, but didn’t know their names, and was particularly thankful they had no idea who she was. <em>To them, she was just a pretty face in the crowd. A pretty face who had hit a momentary potential stumbling block of a female nature—and why on earth did she keep choosing the wrong men?</em></p><p>“<em>I’m not like you,” </em>she whispered to no one in particular. “<em>I almost got married yesterday.”</em></p><p>
  <em>9:05 am, Drugstore, Pharmacy Counter</em>
</p><p>The wait was downright intolerable. <em>And what was with the formica countertops? </em>Now that she thought about it, the entire drugstore appeared to have emerged from a 1960s time warp. Maggie knew that she had no other choice, however. This was the only place within a ten-mile radius that accepted her meager college medical insurance.</p><p>“Driver’s license?” barked a blond lady, jolting Maggie out of her introspective musings. She dug into her purse and presented the plasticine card. “Y’look kinda young for twenty-one, kid.” The lady raised her eyebrows and scrutinized Maggie’s youthful features, which had, in the past, been both a blessing and a curse (<em>though more often the latter</em>, Maggie thought to herself, as she sensed her cheeks growing flushed). <em>How dare she? </em></p><p>Maggie fixated on the lady’s nametag. “<em>Chastity Beltt,” </em>it read. Maggie did a double-take. If it weren’t for the current and highly ironic circumstances, she would have been rolling around in laughter. As it was, Maggie was most certainly <em>not </em>in the mood for amusement.</p><p>“I was almost married yesterday,” she said to Chastity in a low voice, her eyes pleading.</p><p>Chastity appeared utterly unconcerned. “Whatever makes you feel better, kid. I see girls like you come in here every day—” Maggie could feel herself inwardly course with humiliated fury, then rage.</p><p>“<em>Girls like me?” </em>she whispered, her eyebrow raised.</p><p>
  <em>9:05 am, Drugstore, Pharmacy, First Aid Kit Section</em>
</p><p>Harry plucked a few heating pads from their hooks on the sectioned shelves and walked over to the nearby pharmacy counter to pay for them when his eyes narrowed. <em>Was that Maggie, dressed in that odd getup?</em></p><p>
  <em>9:09 am, Drugstore, Pharmacy Counter</em>
</p><p>Chastity finally made her way to the counter, but without the Plan B pill that Maggie was so desperate to receive. “There’s a problem,” stated Chastity with that seemed to Maggie like a smirk. “Your insurance card’s expired.”</p><p>Maggie’s insides frozen in terror. “B-but that’s impossible! I’m—I’m enrolled! I’m still a student!”</p><p>“Any deaths in the family? Were you in a family network plan?” asked Chastity, adopting a rather bored tone.</p><p><em>Oh no. Marisol. When she died, I probably lost my insurance. They can’t tie a twenty-one-year-old’s medical insurance to a deceased relative, can they? Oh God. Oh no. </em>Trying to ignore the shakiness in her voice, Maggie stared at Chastity, imagining burning a hole between the pair of eye sockets in that head of hers. <em>Would that count as heat of passion justifiable reckoning? </em>“How much is Plan B without health insurance?”</p><p>“$250,” replied Chastity. “Plus it goes against my religious beliefs, but I still gotta dole it out if I wanna keep my job,” she drawled with an eyeroll, tapping her annoyingly well-manicured nails on the formica countertop between them. <em>Oh. My. G—</em></p><p>“Is there a problem?” a smooth British voice inquired, its owner having sidled up to Maggie unawares. <em>Son of a—, </em>she groaned inwardly.<em> As if this couldn’t get any worse.</em></p><p>“And <em>you are?</em>”</p><p>“Harry Greenwood, Chairman of Women’s Studies at Hilltowne University.”</p><p>Chastity bent forward from her chair to examine him. “But you’re not female.”</p><p>“Ah, <em>yes—</em>yes<em>, </em>I’m quite aware,” he responded, attempting to defuse the tension with a bit of pedantic humor. He turned to Maggie. “Could you wait in the greeting card aisle until I get you?” Puzzled, she nodded and walked away, fully aware of the stares of others in line, boring into the back of her head.</p><p>
  <em>9:12 am, Drugstore, Pharmacy Counter</em>
</p><p>Harry accosted Maggie just as she reached for a blank greeting card whose front was covered in purple-and-yellow pansies; he had a plastic bag of what she guessed were his own personal items. She followed him and approached Chastity once more, who handed her a brown paper bag with the one pill she needed to end her risk of bringing pure apocalyptic evil into existence. “I apologize for my earlier behavior—it was rude and obnoxious and it will never happen again,” Chastity muttered, avoiding looking at either of their faces as she called the next customer to the counter. With that, Harry and Maggie walked out of the drugstore; once they rounded the corner to a hidden alley, Harry offered Maggie his arm and she took it, as they orbed home together to Vera Manor.</p><p>
  <em>9:20 am, Vera Manor, Kitchen</em>
</p><p>“Harry…what did you say to her?” Maggie regarded Harry with a mixture of awe and gratitude.</p><p>“Oh,” he said offhandedly, emptying his plastic bag of his wares, “I told her I had the head, in-house counsel, and PR lead of Planned Parenthood and every major news network on speed dial. And once I covered payment in full, she didn’t seem nearly so keen in causing a fuss.”</p><p>“Thanks, Harry,” Maggie replied, fascinated by the Whitelighter’s quick thinking. “I really owe ya one. I mean—it’s so embarrassing—you shouldn’t have covered it—I shouldn’t be dragging you into my personal problems—”</p><p>“No worries, Maggie,” responded Harry, pulling out a bundle of sanitary napkins and what appeared to be a box of tea. “I picked these up while you were in the greeting card section in case your menstrual cycle goes awry. And I’ve heard peppermint tea is rather effective at reducing the severity of pain associated with cramping.”</p><p>“Harry—” Maggie began, receiving the proffered items in her arms, “…<em>why</em>? You’re a guy—you don’t <em>have </em>to be helpful—”</p><p>“You are a <em>Charmed One</em> in need of help, Maggie, and as a feminist Whitelighter who also happens to be Chair of the Women’s Studies Department, it is my honor-bound duty to help you and your sisters when you are all in need of my assistance.”</p><p>“Makes sense,” Maggie answered, a faint smile on her lips as she turned and plodded upstairs to take the pill and put the feminine supplies away in the bathroom cabinet under the sink.</p><p>
  <em>9 pm, Vera Manor, Living Room, Fireplace</em>
</p><p>Maggie stared into the flames, watching the sparks and embers flicker, smoke, and dance every which possible way. Her stomach hadn’t much been in the mood for dinner, but she had eaten enough to sustain herself for now.</p><p>“Are you alright, Maggie?” Harry quietly asked, approaching the lone figure, who stared past the mantlepiece into an invisible psychological abyss of her own creation.</p><p>Maggie, turning to him, made as if to answer, then a tear escaped, and another. “This isn’t how a child should be brought into the world—I couldn’t take the risk. It would’ve been dangerous to all of humanity, given Parker’s heritage. Of course, I probably might not have been pregnant, but—”</p><p>“You were being responsible,” finished Harry. “And Maggie, I’m <em>really</em> proud of you for being brave today—for being a responsible witch—and everything that involves.”</p><p>She gulped and nodded. “Thanks, that really means a lot.” She regarded the wood-burning logs, the immaculate silver picture frames on the mantel, and lifted her gaze toward her older brother-from-another-mother. “Harry, why do I keep choosing the wrong guy? What’s wrong with me? Macy’s smart—she likes <em>you. </em>You’re wise and dependable.”</p><p>Harry pondered this statement for a minute, digesting it in its entirety. <em>Was the bit about Macy really true, and not just a figment of his own imagination, as of late? </em>He quickly banished that thought—after all, it was Maggie who had sought his counsel. “It’s not you,” he spoke slowly and deliberately. “It’s your empath heart that simply wants to heal the world over. One day—” he paused, glancing at the flickering flames, then back at Maggie, “one day, you’ll meet the right forward-thinking man for you, who will sweep you off your feet and make your world dance with happiness and laughter in ways you never thought possible.”</p><p>“You really think so?” Maggie asked as she wiped the remaining tears off her visage.</p><p>Harry patted Maggie’s shoulder encouragingly. “<em>I know so.”</em></p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This chapter was inspired by Meghan Tonjes' song "These Stars" (February Patreon Perk)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Those Castaway Diamonds</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>2 Those Castaway Diamonds</p><p>
  <em>“But I knew you’d linger like a tattooed kiss…” -Cardigan by Taylor Swift</em>
</p><p>
  <em>4 am, Six Months Later, Friday, Vera Manor, Maggie’s Bedroom</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She careened backwards, the palms of her hands breaking the impact of her fall onto the well-polished floor as she stared at millions of her own reflection in what she recognized as Jordan’s SafeSpace gym. The tone of his voice was raised. “Man, leave her alone!” and she looked on in horror as Parker strode toward Jordan, executing a horrifically maniacal chokehold. “Stay-away-from-my-girl—”</em>
</p><p>Maggie leapt up in bed, her heart beating rapidly as she found herself covered in her own sticky perspiration; she trembled as she detected a tightness in her throat and a sudden inability to breathe. <em>A panic attack</em>, she realized<em>. It’s only a dream. It was only a dream. </em>She closed her eyes, attempting deep breathing exercises, as she fumbled across her nightstand for her phone; upon accessing it, she clicked on her Calm app.</p><p>“<em>And bring your attention inward, letting go of all thoughts, everything that happened this morning,” </em>the Calm app began from where she had last left it, and as the sound of the yogi’s words faded away, they were replaced by the aural ASMR of a rainforest soundscape, with the familiar rustlings of heliconia blossoms, squawking scarlet macaws, and pattering of raindrops making contact with wide-open palm fronds. Her breathing grew less ragged as she felt the attack dissipate. She attempted to distract herself with various dictionary terms she looked up the day before. <em>Velleity: noun, a wish or inclination not strong enough to lead to action. Vendredi: noun, French word for Friday.</em></p><p>Before her eyes were fully shut from the lull of her app, she abruptly rose and went to the bathroom, where she took a pregnancy test to allay her frayed nerves. After a couple of minutes, the results were in: <em>Negative</em>. <em>Thank every deity on earth and beyond</em>, she thought to herself as she felt a weight lifted from her shoulders. She ambled sleepily back into bed, immensely relieved. The earlier relocation had meant becoming a college drop-out (<em>for the present, at least)</em>; she currently worked at SafeSpace to make ends meet and support her family. Life was already complicated enough without having to add the risk of Parker’s evil, humanity-obliterating spawn to the mix.</p><p>
  <em>Noon, Next Day, Vera Manor, Maggie’s Bedroom</em>
</p><p>Maggie had already found her SafeSpace prom dress, a satin-like maroon-colored outfit, that she was currently glue-gunning Swarovski crystals to. <em>Ten a day, wards the anxiety away</em>, she mused to herself sardonically. Affixing shining stones did have a somewhat therapeutic effect, much as she tried to convince herself otherwise; it made her feel as though she had returned to that night six months ago, where she had worn her dirtied wedding dress outside the front door of Vera Manor. She recalled staring at the glittering night sky, and she was now, in her own way, transforming those scarring memories into a cathartically glamorous constellation of fashionable art.</p><p>Working with Jordan on the planning committee was fun too; the late afternoon meetings typically fraught with tension were now relaxed due to Jordan’s insistence that everyone (who had the ability to do so) do ten jumping jacks and a couple of push-ups before beginning any sort of discussion. He was also rather talented at making keto-friendly Chicago deep-dish pizzas from scratch. <em>A guy who had sturdy washboard abs and impeccable culinary skills was definitely a friend worth having</em>, she mused to herself, recalling how Jordan’s eyes often met her own, as they discussed the latest trends in fashion, music, and gaming technology.</p><p>He always seemed so attentive to her, asking if she was ok in the wake of Parker’s attack, and whenever he went down to the café for coffee, he invited her with him—<em>as friends and colleagues</em>, she told herself firmly. <em>Nothing more.</em> She adhered the final piece of Swarovski crystal to her prom outfit and stepped back to admire her handiwork. <em>This was her moment to shine.</em></p><p>
  <em>8:45 pm, SafeSpace Prom</em>
</p><p>SafeSpace prom tickets had sold out and everyone was dressed to the nines. The DJ was playing a selection of carefully curated, pre-vetted songs that had been deemed appropriate for the audience. Maggie found herself onstage in her maroon sleeveless gown, cropped just above the knee, with sparkling Swarovski crystals adorning the blouse.</p><p>Jordan, emceeing the event, could not seem to take his eyes off of her.</p><p>
  <em>10 pm, SafeSpace Prom</em>
</p><p>The evening was in full swing, and drinks were flowing aplenty. Maggie and Jordan, now relieved of their committee duties, proceeded to a dark corner of the bar to grab refreshments and catch up. “Awesome job, emcee!” Maggie shouted above the din.</p><p>“You too, Vera, you look really beautiful!” Jordan loudly exclaimed in reply. Maggie grinned as she stared down into her drink, then looked back up at him.</p><p>The booming music, the crowds of people, and the sheer noise level (<em>coupled with Swan dancing on a nearby table</em>) made it nearly impossible to hear themselves talk. After several more minutes, Maggie tugged on Jordan’s arm. “Wanna go someplace quieter so we can talk?” she gestured with her elbow. He nodded and rose to follow her.</p><p>
  <em>10:02 pm, SafeSpace, Fire Escape</em>
</p><p>Maggie inserted her keycard to open the barely-visible corner door; soon, they found themselves on SafeSpace’s expansive fire escape, decorated with tealights, bright white reclining chairs, and ocean-blue beach umbrellas—an oddly eclectic stylistic mixture of French Riviera and bohemian chic. Jordan walked around its perimeter, his mouth agape. “Whoa, <em>Vera</em>,” he said in wonderment. “What <em>is </em>this place?”</p><p>“Secret SafeSpace lounge,” she replied casually, “perks of being in management,” as she tried hard not to stare at the outline of his abs protruding ever-so-tenuously against the silk of his freshly-ironed dress shirt. <em>Get a grip, Maggie,</em> she scolded herself in her tipsy, sleep-deprived haze. <em>You’re better than this! </em>But she continued gazing thirstily, unable to look away from his extremely well-toned arms, the result of dedicated amounts of push-ups and athletic pull-ups.</p><p>“I see…” Jordan moved closer, and Maggie followed suit, as they made their way to one of the reclining chairs. “And how are you holding up?”</p><p>Maggie laughed and deflected accordingly. “Jordan, you always ask me how I am, and the answer is more or less the same—<em>as well as can be expected</em>. Not great, but not horrific. One day at a time, et cetera. <em>What about you?”</em></p><p>He glanced away at one of the furthest tealights glimmering in a corner of the glamorized fire escape. “Not bad. I broke up with Lola though.”</p><p>“Jeez, sorry to hear—” Maggie was quick to offer…<em>Condolences? Covert celebration? </em>Then she hesitated. “Can I ask why?”</p><p>Jordan mulled this over. “In all honesty, Vera, we grew apart. Lola wanted to move to New York for her career, and I’m pursuing law school here. My life’s at SafeSpace, and being at the gym is part of who I am. I can’t just give that up…Lola and I had a fight…she didn’t see herself being with a gym rat. She was only with me because she wanted a high-powered lawyer husband, and I want to do public interest—”</p><p>“You deserve better than her, Jordan—<em>you know that</em>,” Maggie reached over and clasped his hand in hers. “You are the smartest, kindest soul I know.”</p><p>“Truth is, Vera—the fight—it was a long time coming. She thought that there was more keeping me here than the gym, my job, and school. She accused me of drifting away, of having feelings for someone else.” He cleared his throat, and made steady eye contact with Maggie, as they continued to sit on the foot of the reclining chair. “<em>A coworker.” </em></p><p>Maggie hardly dared to breathe, let alone move. <em>Was this really happening? </em>She drank in his now-dilated eyes as they fixated on her own. “And…” she whispered tentatively. “Just <em>who </em>might this coworker be?”</p><p>Rather than answer aloud, Jordan reached over to gently cup Maggie’s chin in the palm of his earthy hand, as they drew closer and kissed. After a couple of seconds, their mouths opened, their tongues tenuously exploring the heat of the other’s palate. Realizing that SafeSpace likely had a zillion security cameras encircling the perimeter, Maggie paused and stood up, indicating as much as she made for the darkness of the abandoned stairwell. Jordan followed close behind.  </p><p>What had meant to be a single kiss turned into many, <em>many </em>more, along the darkened stairwell corridor. In no time at all, Maggie found her right hand pinned against the cement wall, her other encircling Jordan’s well-toned ass, as she alternated between slapping him and biting the most sensitive part of his neck. He, in turn, was groping at the front of her maroon dress, fondling her now-erect nipple above the seams of her Swarovski upper hemline. Jordan picked her up so that she was straddling him, able to feel his silky hardness through the black formalwear slacks he had chosen to wear for the evening. Suddenly, her anxiety surfaced as she noticed a couple of gemstones had gone missing in the midst of their passionate fervor.</p><p>“<em>My gemstones…they fell off…”</em> Jordan tenderly set her back on her feet, and it hit her that she had just been making out with her coworker. <em>Fuck. </em>“Sorry—Jordan,” she stammered, “I—I gotta leave—” and she dashed down the stairs, past another hallway, and into the restricted closet, where she portaled home to Vera Manor.</p><p>
  <em>8 am, Next Morning, Vera Manor, Maggie’s Bedroom</em>
</p><p>A disheveled Maggie blinked slowly, shielding her eyes from the light streaming through her bedroom window. Her memories of last night were cloudy, and her head pounded from one too many drinks from yesterday’s bacchanalia. She wasn’t flat-out drunk—she had merely been tipsy, plus extraordinarily sleep-deprived from the committee planning activities. Some of Maggie’s memories flickered back. She had felt such amazing, ankle-popping chemistry with Jordan, her smart and generally awesome coworker. His suit shirt coordinated perfectly, and she thought it was certainly a pity they worked so closely together, otherwise she would have been on him in a heartbeat—<em>oh, wait a second…</em></p><p>Around ten last night, she remembered they had had a couple of drinks, and made out along the railings and walls of the fire escape stairwell. <em>This was going to make facing him tonight at Macy and Harry’s surprise engagement party extremely awkward. </em>Maggie groaned aloud. <em>And she had a fancy dinner to plan.</em></p><p>
  <em>9 pm, Same Day, Vera Manor Garden</em>
</p><p>By all accounts, Maggie’s engagement party for Harry and Macy had been a resounding success. Maggie was alone in the kitchen; she refused to let Macy or Harry help clean up, finally threatening to hex them if they didn’t go and enjoy themselves out on the patio. After dinner, it seemed as though Mel had vanished into thin air. Maggie sighed as she faced two tall towers of dirty dishes clamoring for attention in the sink. <em>So much for sisterly love.</em></p><p>“Want some help with that?” Maggie didn’t need to turn around to know who spoke. <em>Jordan.</em> Without so much as a second of eye contact, she tossed him a sponge and he began to scrub the stack of dishes to her right. Several long, interminable minutes passed before he ventured a word in. “Do you want to discuss what happened last night?”</p><p>Maggie knew this was going to happen sooner or later. “What’s there to discuss?” she tried to ask casually, knowing full well that she could feel her face starting to blush.</p><p>“The part where we talked about…<em>us</em>.” Jordan said softly. “Maggie, for once in your life, it’s ok to relax—you’re not at work right now. It’s ok to open your heart—to, <em>y’know</em>, see where things go.”</p><p>“With you?” Maggie turned to face him slowly.</p><p>“Only if you want to…” Jordan replied, looking through the window to where Harry and Macy stood outside stargazing. “I don’t plan to run from my feelings; I like to face my fears directly.”</p><p>Maggie laughed. “You, Jordan, are afraid?”</p><p>“More than you know,” Jordan responded. “But, like all things, I realize that if I don’t confront this head-on, I will always wonder what might have been—and <em>that </em>is more impossible to live with, in my humble opinion.”</p><p>“But,” Maggie tried to find a cover of an excuse to deny her innermost feelings. “What if things end terribly?”</p><p>“What if,” Jordan offered a rejoinder, bending closer to meet her eyes, “we’re the next Hacy?”</p><p>“Touché, Chase, touché,” Maggie knew she was fighting a losing battle. “If you’re so dead set on your noble quest, ask me on a date. <em>I dare you</em>.”</p><p>“Ok, Vera,” Jordan chuckled. “Maybe I will.” And they kissed.</p><p>
  <em>8 am, Six Months Later, Paris, France, Coven Coffee</em>
</p><p>Maggie chewed on an errant hangnail as her feet repeatedly tapped the base of the table in front of her. Harry had promised to orb Jordan to Coven Coffee as soon as he could, but between their perfectly platonic Whitelighter-in-training bromance, Jordan’s job, and his first-year law school studies, nothing was ever guaranteed. More and more, it seemed to Maggie that Jordan forgot he even <em>had </em>a girlfriend—if that’s what the paltry hidden kisses, surreptitious hand-holding, and random appearances at Vera Manor were any indication of.</p><p><em>It wasn’t his fault that he was a paramedic superhero, had a job, and was in part-time evening law school, </em>Maggie reminded herself. <em>You knew exactly what you were getting yourself into. </em>Sighing, she pulled out the receipt paper the cashier had handed to her along with her cappuccino; borrowing a pen, she began to write.</p><p>
  <em>Jordan: </em>
</p><p><em>Pros</em>: his generous heart, Whitelighter-in-training, chivalrous, fit, gainfully employed, smart (law school!), already has Harry’s approval</p><p><em>Cons</em>: too busy for me, constantly cancels dates (Whitelighting, law school, job, paramedic duties), is a coworker (coworker relationships <em>never </em>end well), is too giving of his own time—leaves me alone too often</p><p>“Hey, babe,” she heard the chair in front of her slide back as Jordan sat down. “Got your memo—you said we needed to talk?” He made as if to kiss her, but she turned away abruptly; his kiss landed on her lower cheekbone instead.</p><p>“I think…” she started, “I think we’re on two very different paths. I’m starting up college classes again, and you’re swamped with law school, work, and Whitelighter training. Yesterday was the third time you cancelled on me.” She stared down at her cup; “<em>I can’t be in this relationship anymore</em>,” she murmured aloud.</p><p>His eyes grew wide. “Babe—<em>Vera</em>,” he cringed upon hearing her pronouncement, “I had to resuscitate the seventy-year-old next door, she was having a coronary!”</p><p>“I know,” Maggie replied softly. “<em>I get it.</em> It’s just—I fell in love with you for your generous heart, but lately I haven’t felt loved at all. Your responsibilities have constantly overshadowed my needs. And I feel…<em>forgotten.</em>”</p><p>“Margarita Vera, I love you,” his eyes flashed with ardent emotion. “I’ll make time, <em>I swear</em>—I’ll scale back on my gym tutorials—cancel my torts law recitation study groups—”</p><p>Maggie shook her head. “Sometimes, love just <em>isn’t</em> enough. You’re the city’s Clark Kent—who am I to get in the way of that? And besides, the law is a jealous mistress. I can’t ask you to give up your life for me. It’s not fair to either of us.”</p><p>“I can change—<em>I promise</em>—” Jordan floundered haplessly.</p><p>She stopped him, a finger on his lips. “<em>Please,” </em>she whispered, her voice cracking. “Please don’t make this any harder than it already is. Once you finish your first year of law school—the toughest year so I’ve heard—let’s revisit this conversation.” Maggie rose from her seat, disposed of her empty cappuccino cup, and left the coffeehouse as the chime tinkled in her wake. Jordan leapt up to follow her.</p><p>“So it’s a <em>not now, </em>but <em>maybe later?</em>” he asked as they ducked into a nearby alley where Harry was waiting, checking his timepiece. Maggie gave the faintest trace of a nod as she reached into her pocket, retrieved her marble, and vanished into the glow of the emergent ephemeral portal.</p><p>
  <em>8:45 am/11:45 pm PDT, Vera Manor Doorstep</em>
</p><p>“I take it your Coven Coffee chat with your girlfriend didn’t go well?” Harry asked Jordan, who was now sitting on the front stoop of Vera Manor.</p><p>“Well, for starters—she’s not my girlfriend anymore,” he muttered. “I had to resuscitate the seventy-year-old next door, she was having a coronary—Maggie should have been more understanding!” he then exclaimed to Harry, who continued to have a rather impassive expression.</p><p>“I think, my friend—” began Harry, “that Maggie was quite accommodating with your first-year law school studies. She provided you ample notebooks in every corner of the house with whatever spare change she had lying around. She dusted and wiped the mirrors of your gymnasium every morning before you arrived and used it as an excuse to spend even more of what precious little time she had—<em>with you</em>. Did you remember her birthday? It was yesterday.”</p><p>Jordan froze upon hearing Harry’s words. <em>Oh snap. </em>“Harry, I royally fucked up—<em>I did, didn’t I</em>?” He mentally chastised himself for being too dense to notice any of Maggie’s expressions of kindness and affection. He’d thought that Maggie happened to have a lot of notebook paper leftover from their vanquishing spells, or that the mirrors were self-cleaning, and the list went on. <em>And her birthday? How could I have forgotten to ask my own girlfriend when her birthday was? Maggie was right to leave me</em>, he realized<em>. </em>There was no amount of “wooing the hell outta someone” that would get him out of the mess he had created for himself.</p><p>“Everyone makes errors in their lives, some far bigger than others,” Harry cryptically responded. “Maggie did mention, however—if I remember correctly—that she’d reassess once you finished your first year, right?”</p><p>Jordan nodded glumly. “Three hundred and sixty-five days without Maggie’s hand in mine.”</p><p>“But it’s not impossible, as ‘all’s fair in love and war,’ right? And if you play your hand well, perhaps you’ll have even more time with her than you bargained for in the first place.”</p><p>“<em>Word</em>.” With that, Jordan stood up from his seat on the front porch and strode off into the darkness, back to the lonely solitude of his one-bedroom apartment several blocks away.</p><p>“Where are you headed?” Harry called out after him.</p><p>“Back to my apartment to figure out how to win Maggie back,” Jordan responded. “I got my work cut out for me.”</p><p>“I wish you all the success in the world,” Harry replied, with a twinkle in his eye.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This chapter (and subsequent chapters) are partly inspired by Taylor Swift's newest song, "Cardigan."</p><p>The meditation described in this chapter was adapted from Calm App's Global #CalmTogether Meditation: https://blog.calm.com/take-a-deep-breath</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. This American Dynasty</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>3 This American Dynasty</p><p>
  <em>“I knew you’d haunt all of my what if’s…” -Cardigan by Taylor Swift</em>
</p><p>
  <em>8 am, Nearly One Year Later, SafeSpace Hallway</em>
</p><p>Carrying a bundle of portfolio documents of the latest SafeSpace donors and affiliates, Maggie rushed around the corner hallway, and careened into a tall dark figure, causing her papers to fly into the air and land every which direction. <em>Shit. </em>She bent forward on all fours, attempting to gather what remained of the manila folders’ contents when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She ignored it until she looked across the landing to Jordan’s gym mirrors, which indicated that the person trying to get her attention had two long,<em> horse-like </em>legs<em>.</em></p><p>Her head shot up. “Holy crap, <em>you’re Goat-Man!”</em></p><p>The Jason Momoa look-alike shook his head, handing her the rest of the paperwork he had mysteriously managed to wrangle from the air above them. “<em>Satyr</em>.” He pulled her aside into an abandoned conference room. “<em>How did you know?” </em>he hissed. Maggie pointed at the mirrors, then back at his legs. “Oh…” he sighed. “I really <em>do </em>need to work on my concealment charms. My acolyte skills are abysmal, aren’t they?”</p><p>Maggie stared at him in shock. “<em>Acolyte? </em>As in, retail worker who stays updated on us and everything magical?” The tall, dark ponytail-haired satyr bowed deeply.</p><p>“My name is Martin, and I am at your service, <em>Charmed One.” </em></p><p>“Oh,” Maggie erupted in a sudden high-pitched giggle. <em>The longer she gazed at him, the more attractive he appeared, </em>Maggie thought to herself, biting her lip subconsciously. She cleared her throat. “<em>I mean…</em>thanks so much for conjuring back my paperwork—I owe you—wanna grab coffee?”</p><p>“Coffee would be <em>lovely</em>.” They descended the central stairway together to the café below, where they fell to chatting for the better part of an hour.</p><p>
  <em>8:30 am, SafeSpace, Jordan’s Gym</em>
</p><p>In the gym closet he converted into a tiny office, Jordan re-examined his list of paramedic and sports medicine interns. In the inaugural spring semester hiring season, they had performed excellently, the donors were pleased, and so the program had been renewed with full funding for another year. This came after trying to brainstorm ways to return to Maggie <em>and </em>help his community. He had discovered that the ABA forbade law students from working more than twenty hours a week, so to be on the right side of the law, it was necessary to outsource his ancillary duties. <em>And so he had</em>, <em>with brilliant results</em>. <em>One step closer, </em>he thought to himself.</p><p>
  <em>8:45 am, SafeSpace Café </em>
</p><p>“You should know—I’m not the relationship type. I never meet the parents,” remarked Martin, between sips of his café latte, with sugar-free almond syrup and powdered nutmeg.</p><p>Maggie gazed at her cappuccino for the next several seconds, then stared back up at Martin. “<em>I’d never ask you to be.” </em>She absentmindedly stirred in an extra half packet of Splenda. “And besides, my biological parents are deceased, if you weren’t already aware.”</p><p>“My condolences,” Martin’s eyes glistened as he regarded the captivatingly innocent flower before him. <em>This was going to be easier than he initially thought, </em>he surmised. <em>Especially with the business trip coming up.</em></p><p>
  <em>8:59 am, SafeSpace, Jordan’s Gym</em>
</p><p>He stepped out of his closet office, through the gym doors, and looked below at the throng of pedestrian traffic toward the direction of the café. He missed catching up with Vera—hearing the sound of her laugh, the way she stirred her coffee and sipped it with those velvety lips of hers. <em>It was almost a full year since they had last chatted outside of group meetings, entirely work-related. What if he asked her to coffee, just this once? </em>Jordan made a beeline for her desk space, turning various corners, his lanky build striding down a hallway or two, until he came to her office area. <em>Empty</em>. <em>Where was she?</em></p><p>As if in answer, Jordan heard a peal of laughter, followed by a deep voice. <em>Maggie—and—a guy? </em>He went around the bend and ducked behind an environmentally-friendly fern plant, watching in dismay as the pair, coffee cups in hand, hugged farewell and departed; five steps away, they turned and gazed at each other in a way that send chills down Jordan’s spine. <em>I’ve missed my chance, </em>he realized, as he walked back to his gym. <em>What if I had visited her desk an hour sooner? Vera is my home, and so is Vera Manor, </em>he thought to himself. <em>I need to make things work—no matter how long it takes.</em></p><p>
  <em>9 pm, Three Weeks Later, Heaven &amp; Hell Bar, Washington, DC</em>
</p><p>Jordan regretted setting foot in the establishment the moment his shoe hit the entryway. He’d read the night before, in his hotel room, of how the locale had recently been cited for health violations (<em>something about going mask-less as of late</em>). <em>Was this really the best place to spent everyone’s last night in DC? </em>Martin had appointed himself the social life ambassador during the trip, and all but ordered everyone to “<em>be there or be square</em>.” Jordan didn’t trust Martin’s motives one bit when it came to Maggie and was going to tail him every single chance he got.</p><p>Converted into a restaurant after having been a ramshackle rowhouse in its previous life, the top level of the bar was “Heaven,” a dance space with odd hand-drawn murals depicting enormous tentacled squid and sirens that reminded himself of the placard art he saw near Seattle’s Pike Market locale. Further down, he spotted a bar stand and stools by the dim glow of candlelight, perilously close to a set of potentially flammable pure white lilies, long-stemmed in a tall plastic vase. There were simple stage prop-style café chairs strewn about the edges of the dance floor, with small rounded tables that reminded him of Harry’s tales of the Tessera Nightclub back in Manchester. <em>How Jimmy met Darcy, back in the 1940s. </em>The bottom level, in contrast, was “Hell,” with several billiards tables.</p><p>From where Jordan was in the Heaven portion, he noticed a DJ on a raised platform who began blaring a combination of go-go and contemporary music; hordes of people descended onto every corner of space, making it impossible to spot any of his coworkers, least of all Martin or Maggie.</p><p>
  <em>9:30 pm, Heaven &amp; Hell Bar, Washington, DC</em>
</p><p>He shoved his way through the masses of people—<em>how was this place able to fit that many humans, anyhow? Wasn’t this some sort of health code violation? </em>Jordan made a mental note to check DC zoning laws once he was in a place with reliable internet access. <em>What was Maggie wearing tonight? </em>He remembered—a black halter blouse, denim jeans, and large silver hoop earrings. Jordan wove through several couples, apologizing as he interrupted their frenetic movements, as they let loose after ten-hour shifts lobbying on Capitol Hill, or interning at the local environmental think tank, or doing whatever they were to make the world a safer place, one step at a time. <em>America’s very own dynasty, </em>he thought to himself, observing the gyrating millennial youth around him; <em>work hard, play even harder.</em></p><p>Jordan pushed his way to the perimeters, scouring the darkest corners of the dance hall. <em>Then it struck him</em>. <em>What if Maggie and Martin were…in Hell downstairs? </em>He scrambled through the claustrophobic crowd once more, nearly tripping at the head of the stairs leading to the billiards tables below. Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself, and trotted downward, hoping that he wasn’t too late. The annual coworking convention had everyone working until the wee hours of the night, and he hadn’t had a chance to talk to Maggie alone, without Martin practically attached to her hip.</p><p>
  <em>9:40 pm, Heaven &amp; Hell Bar, Washington, DC</em>
</p><p>He stumbled upon the rows of billiards tables, all of which were occupied by his colleagues. Ignoring the back-slaps and proffered handshakes, he muttered an excuse under his breath as he explored the rest of this darkened basement area that reeked of Mary Jane. He turned a corner and went down what appeared to be a long tunnel, its walls scrawled with various expletive-laden poetry (<em>Was it art or profane? Or both?)</em>; he passed the women’s and men’s restrooms on either side of him and continued pressing forward, until he found himself at the end of the hall, which opened its lascivious, outstretched mouth onto the sultry humidity of the outdoor evening. Whether it was Harry’s Whitelighter training or his own skillset as a paramedic, he instinctively knew something was amiss.</p><p>As his eyes adjusted, he detected movement in the alley in front of him, against a building’s wall. <em>Was someone being attacked?</em> Still crouching in his hiding spot, he suddenly heard gasps, moans, and “<em>Oh, Martin…!”</em></p><p>It was Maggie, her denim-clad sinewy legs straddled around dark pony-tailed Martin, her back flush against the crimson brick wall. Kissing <em>him, </em>of all people, as he by turns grabbed her silver hoop earrings, <em>one, then the other,</em> by his oversize teeth.</p><p>In that moment, Jordan comprehended why Parker had put him in a chokehold all those months ago. His heart beating furiously, he felt white-hot rage coursing through his veins, threatening to erupt in a dangerous and potentially criminal way that could jeopardize his admission to the state bar once his law school career was complete. He didn’t condone the guy’s actions, but now, he understood what it was like to have love flee from his grasp into the arms of someone else.</p><p>
  <em>9 pm, Next Evening, Vera Manor Doorstep</em>
</p><p>Harry originally planned to teach Jordan the art of camouflage (which he had learned as Jimmy Westwell during WWII), but upon seeing the latter’s expression, knew the lesson had to be postponed. “Jordan?” he ventured carefully toward the figure hunched over the front stoop. “What’s on your mind? I’m all ears.”</p><p>Jordan turned to him. “I’m worried about Maggie. She’s infatuated with a mutual coworker. Name’s Martin. Works in sales. Rumor has it he’s a satyr.”</p><p>“And <em>why </em>are you worried? It’s not quite three hundred and sixty-five days yet…” Harry began gently.</p><p>“Harry, you <em>know </em>what a satyr is known for, mythological or metaphorical, right? Dude, it’s like—a <em>sex god. </em>He doesn’t have her best interests in mind, he’s just pursuing her to get in her pants—”</p><p>“<em>Whoa,</em> now, hold your horses,” replied Harry, stopping Jordan before he could elaborate on the <em>highly</em> inappropriate personal intricacies of his Charmed One charge. “If I recall correctly, Maggie still has a month or so before she has any form of discussion with you, right?”</p><p>Jordan nodded. “Yeah, but—”</p><p>Harry shook his head. “<em>No buts. </em>Remember, per an earlier conversation, that you must give her time.”</p><p>“Time to make a huge mistake with a satyr who only sees her as a glorified concubine?”</p><p>Harry visibly flinched. “I know it’s difficult, but you must make an effort—”</p><p>“But I <em>have </em>been making an effort!” exclaimed Jordan. “I’ve outsourced most of my earlier responsibilities. I’m almost done with my first year of law school. I’ve made room for her—I’ve given her a ton of space, and I don’t approach her outside of group meetings. <em>I’ve given it my all.” </em>He paused, realizing his voice had been escalating at every turn of the conversation.</p><p>“Jordan, what’s this <em>really </em>about?” Harry sat next to Jordan on the stoop and placed an arm around the figure.</p><p>“<em>How do I compete with a sex god?” </em>Jordan whispered. “What if she never comes back?”</p><p>Harry chuckled to himself. “I have no comment on your first question, though I might consider your past dealings and perhaps recommend a review of the ancient Sanskrit <em>Kama Sutra </em>on eroticism and fulfillment. As to your second question, Maggie Vera has a smart, feisty head on those shoulders of hers, for which she doesn’t nearly receive as much credit as she should, in my humble opinion. I think she will return when the time is right.”</p><p>Jordan glanced at a firefly that alighted on a nearby shrub. “And when might that be?”</p><p>“When Martin and she come to a head about conflicting goals, they part ways, and you’re there to soothe her wounded spirit. She’s a grown-up woman, who like her older sister Macy, needs to learn by experience, mistakes and all.”</p><p>A tear fell from Jordan’s eye, splashing onto his freckled cheekbone, and onto the curly waves of his goatee. “Harry,” he whispered, “was it difficult when you saw Macy dating Julian? Knowing in that moment that it wasn’t your hand that she was holding, or your cheek that she was kissing?”</p><p>“<em>More than you’ll ever know</em>,” responded Harry, patting Jordan’s shoulder sympathetically as they sat together staring at the lone firefly, who rose and with a flicker of its iridescent wings, disappeared into the starless, cloud-filled indigo night sky.</p><p>
  <em>2 pm, Three Weeks Later, Vera Manor Garden</em>
</p><p>It was a lovely summertime afternoon, and the glass tealights were sparkling in the shimmering sunlight. Maggie held the hand of a little girl whose tiny, caramel-colored corkscrew curls encircled her visage like a miniature halo. <em>It was, of course, her niece Maya Madalena Valensi.</em> Maggie recalled the night that Harry had requested removal of his feelings, and Maggie, aware of his future little girl knew, as a Charmed One, that to acquiesce to his demand would have been impossible. Maggie also had enough sense not to tell him just exactly what it was that she saw, for fear of inadvertently disrupting the world order, vis-à-vis the butterfly effect. <em>But there was no need to worry now</em>. Maya had been born alive and safe, into an unconventional yet altogether compassionate family and was utterly surrounded by the love of everyone in it, young and old alike.</p><p>In particular, Maggie had made it her mission as an aunt to spoil Macy and Harry’s daughter to bits, always doting on her, planting kisses on her cheeks, and giving her new bilingual picture books to read whenever she had the opportunity. <em>Someday, </em>a thought popped into her brain, <em>maybe years down the road, she and Jordan would have a child of their own too. But that was impossible, </em>she told herself, not even a second later. <em>She and Jordan had split up and she was now with Martin, a handsome satyr. Not necessarily for the long-term future, but just—here for now. </em></p><p>Maggie heard peals of laughter, and followed the voices to a fancy table, where she saw gaily-wrapped birthday presents, a large “1<sup>st</sup> birthday” banner, and the familiar faces of Mel, Matias, Morgana, and a positively glowing Harry and Macy.</p><p>This was, she knew, a most happily-ever-after—<em>or something like it</em>. But she felt, deep down, in her heart of hearts, that someone was missing. <em>A certain guy named Jordan Chase.</em></p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This chapter was partly inspired by Taylor Swift's newest song, "American Dynasty." Instead of a posh beach, I pictured a crowd of future millennial would-be think-tankers, political junkies, and consultants in a bar off U Street.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Monochrome Exile & Motherland</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>4 Monochrome Exile &amp; Motherland</p><p>
  <em>“I knew I’d curse you for the longest time…” -Cardigan by Taylor Swift</em>
</p><p>
  <em>5 am, Six Months Post-Business Trip, Friday, Urban High-Rise Apartment</em>
</p><p>
  <em>An all-too-familiar kaleidoscope of whirling color enveloped her form, and she suddenly found herself at a monochromatic grey, black, and white dwelling that seemed as though it should have been condemned by the local township instead. She made her way up the rickety doorstep and the door opened at her very touch, creaking loudly. Stepping into the front parlor, she spotted a skittering creature out of the corner of her eye and reflexively aimed her concoction at it, causing a high-pitched squeal as it vanished into metallic confetti. A tentacled squid, much like the one she’d spotted in the bar those months ago. Vanquishing the tentacled creature took but a millisecond, but for whatever reason, she continued to walk around the house, running her finger along the dust-covered mantel and examining the worn photo frames of matriarchs, all of whom appeared to look sad—or angry—or perturbed, to be captured on camera in their most vulnerable inward state of being. What was this place anyways?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She felt a prickle at the back of her neck that indicated she wasn’t alone. She whirled around and found Parker leaning on the doorway, staring intently at her. “Parker!” she gasped aloud. “I thought—I thought you were—”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He stepped forward, moving closer to her until they were inches apart. “What, injured? Unconscious? Dead?” He laughed mirthlessly. “No, Vera. I’m in this hell of a prison. It’s your fault, and you’re staying here with me.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“What—no!” she cried, squirming this way and that, as he forcefully seized her wrist and marched her up two flights of stairs at an unusually rapid and altogether supernatural pace. “NO Parker—this isn’t you! I thought we were sidekicks, fighting the squid—that’s what we were doing—right?” Her eyes darted back and forth, trying but failing to spot any viable escape.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Oh, but Maggie, this is the new me,” he snarled under his breath, as they landed on the topmost stair of the infinite banister. “And the squid you vanquished? She’s in the other room—she’s better than you at being you. Let’s talk to her, shall we? And figure out how to conquer the world?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“No! Parker, please,” she pleaded. “We need to leave NOW—” Parker continued to tug her in the direction of an ominous-looking room, and reflexively, she kicked him hard in the groin, a move she’d learned from Jordan, and Parker slipped, falling down, down, down the infinite staircase….  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“OMG, Parker, I’m so sorry, Im sorr-“</em>
</p><p>Maggie woke up in a sweat, then yelped as her hair was buried under Martin’s broad chest, rising and falling with every snore. “Martin? <em>Martin</em>!” she sharply whispered, whacking him with her arm repeatedly until he finally moved so she could finally free her hair. <em>Yeesh</em>, she thought to herself, massaging her tender scalp. <em>How’s that for a wake-up call?</em></p><p><em>It was only a dream. </em>Her breathing was at an unnervingly high pace, and she went through her mental rolodex of every past Calm app meditation she knew, finally settling on the one involving a mountainous pasture filled with bleating goats and cozy little Swiss cottages. Lately, her coping skills had been improving in relation to her anxiety. She surmised that screwing Martin helped, contributing to an uplift in her endorphin level and improvement in her now-dewy complexion. Though, she secretly had to admit, he wasn’t the best lover. For starters, he was <em>huge</em>. In the beginning, her female body had needed two solid weeks of ice <em>down there </em>to acclimate herself, and she still found herself, every now and then, limping as she walked to her desk at SafeSpace, inwardly cringing at her earlier self, who’d once believed that fucking anything remotely resembling Goat-Man would make her the most fulfilled she’d ever been. <em>Au contraire, Maggie-past, au contraire. </em>She could’ve sworn she saw Jordan’s brow furrow in concern and his knuckles whiten along the edges of a café chair as she tripped over (<em>and broke</em>) the latest environmentally friendly fern collection just outside her desk space, but she could have also been imagining things.</p><p><em>Besides, why would Jordan care? He </em>had<em> his six months and he blew it.</em></p><p>Maggie always had an internal timeline and set of standards when it came to guys. Sex came after six months of dating (<em>or whatever it was this time</em>), and if a guy forgot her birthday within the first year of seeing each other, he was dropped like a stale <em>Tres Estrellas </em>hotcake. <em>No ifs, ands, or buts. </em>She didn’t care if a “dire emergency” popped up—she wasn’t willing to hear them out. <em>She was, after all, classy Margarita Vera with a reputation to uphold, right? </em>She sighed and looked over at Martin, whose snores rattled the nearby windowpanes, and crept out of bed to the kitchen to fix herself a cup of coffee before returning to Vera Manor.</p><p>A not entirely unwelcome thought struck her as she inserted her coffee pod into Martin’s state-of-the-art espresso machine. <em>What if Jordan’s muscular build had been there to comfort her instead?</em> Her scalp wouldn’t have been aching nearly so much, that much she knew for certain. <em>He would have been the one shaking Maggie awake out of her nightmarish stupor, cradling her in his warm-yet-not-stifling arms, whispering meditative mantras to lull her back to sleep, kissing that area of her forehead in a way she’d loved so much.</em></p><p>
  <em>9 am, SafeSpace Corner Hallway</em>
</p><p>“Martin—<em>what are you doing?</em>” Maggie hissed at the lone figure, who appeared to be taking pliers to a section of the corner hallway’s wall. “<em>You’re defacing company property with pliers!” </em></p><p>“Magic detector,” he responded, stepping back to reveal the familiarly ornate and ominous device and Maggie gasped. The alabaster white antique phone-like repository with its corner gold-embellished crown moldings and two circular indentations. He turned to her. “You left me alone in bed again—is there something…<em>wrong</em> with my techniques?”</p><p>“No—I was thirsty,” Maggie avoided his glance, “and I grabbed a cup of coffee—I had a nightmare and you were sleeping on my hair. <em>For the twentieth time,</em>” she responded testily. “So, you’re taking a pair of pliers to <em>centuries-old magic?</em>”</p><p>“These aren’t your ordinary pliers—I’ve imbued it with satyr enchantments.” He tried reaching underneath the alabaster frame to pry the device apart. “And you oughta get Jordan to help with your nightmares, you always mutter his name at night—” Maggie blushed. <em>She hadn’t even remembered doing that.</em></p><p>“I was <em>asleep, </em>Martin, its not like I—” Maggie began, but the buff, well-toned satyr held up his hand.</p><p>“Stop trying to deny it, Maggie. I saw him looking at you a week ago—”</p><p>“That’s because I broke the fern vase--!”</p><p>“And I think you two have a host of unresolved issues to fix that even a sex god such as myself can’t whack a stick at even if I tried. <em>I don’t do feelings, remember?</em>”</p><p>Maggie reluctantly nodded, then attempted to refocus the conversation to the most pressing issue before them. “<em>Whatever</em>,” she mumbled.<em> “Do what you want. </em>The magic detector though?”</p><p>“I’m trying to disassemble it before the others notice—but it—” he grunted, “doesn’t,” he whacked the gold molding, “—seem—to be—<em>doing—anything—"</em></p><p>“Here, lemme try,” Maggie hurriedly replied, glancing this way and that to ensure they weren’t being watched. Martin hoisted her up and she caressed the device in the palm of her hand, whispering a few stanzas of a hybrid poem-spell she’d written on unlocking permanently-sealed doorways. She motioned for him to break out the pliers at a few designated locations throughout the object’s perimeter. He did so, then—a soundless sonic <em>BOOM</em> occurred, knocking Maggie several feet backward. The back of her head hit the opposite wall and she slid down into a crumpled heap upon the freshly-waxed floor, unmoving.</p><p>
  <em>9:05 am, SafeSpace Underground</em>
</p><p>Harry and Jordan had been debating the health benefits of Earl Grey tea and scones (<em>antioxidants</em>, said Harry—<em>all those carbs! </em>exclaimed Jordan in response), when the map before them began beeping loudly. Jordan reached over to the control panel, honing in on the blinking beacon. <em>Seattle</em>, he thought. <em>That’s not too far. </em>He zoomed in further and felt his neck hairs stand up on end. <em>SafeSpace, upstairs. </em>“Maggie,” they both whispered, as they made for the exit and raced up the stairs.</p><p>
  <em>9:08 am, SafeSpace Corner Hallway</em>
</p><p>It was Jordan who spotted the crumpled body. <em>Oh no, oh no, oh no, </em>he sprinted forth and cradled her body in his arms, attempting to put his paramedic training to use. He laid her back down and attempted chest compressions then mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. <em>Maggie, please come back…</em></p><p>He looked up and saw Martin, shifting his feet and appearing entirely out of place. And something seemed to snap in him as he stood and made a beeline for the satyr. “IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT!” he screamed, not caring whether anyone saw him. Harry yanked him back, still shouting.</p><p>“Jordan—JORDAN!” Harry yelled. “Stop—<em>it’s a misunderstanding.</em>”</p><p>“W-what?” Jordan was now the one to appear perplexed.</p><p>“We were trying to dislodge the new magic detector. I’m on your side—<em>c’mon, I’m a freaking satyr</em>, and your girlfriend’ll be alright, she’s already coming to,” Martin huffed indignantly pointing at Maggie, whose eyes began to slowly open; he stormed off in a huff, muttering under his breath about taking an extended leave of absence to job hunt elsewhere.</p><p>
  <em>6 pm, Vera Manor, Maggie’s bedroom</em>
</p><p>She opened her eyes once more; the hazy blur of Vera Manor came into sharper focus, and she found herself facing Harry himself. “Harry,” Maggie asked slowly, “what happened?”</p><p>“You were knocked unconscious by your hybrid poem-spell in your attempt to disassemble a magic detector with your boyfriend, Martin. Luckily, Jordan and I were able to get to you in time, and he and I dislodged the detector. The process was much easier, thanks to your earlier (though <em>highly</em> volatile) efforts.”</p><p>Maggie nodded, then added softly, “I stopped seeing Martin.”</p><p>“<em>Oh?”</em> Harry asked. “What happened between you two?”</p><p>“He accused me of having feelings for another—he saw the way Jordan looked at me when I tripped over the fern—”</p><p>Harry pondered her response for a moment. “And <em>do </em>you?” He coughed indelicately. “Have feelings for Jordan, I mean?”</p><p>Maggie let another several slow seconds go by before finally responding. “<em>Yes,” </em>she whispered. “But what if it’s too late?”</p><p>“Speaking from experience, having lived a solid ten decades and counting, it is <em>never </em>too late to pursue true love.”</p><p>Maggie stared down at the bedsheet, her fingers tracing the cotton seams to where the navy and sky blue-striped textured bedcover began. “I made a mistake in letting him go.”</p><p>Harry chuckled lightly; this, he could <em>definitely </em>relate to, having kissed Abigael ages ago before realizing where his heart truly lay—with his now-wife Macy and darling daughter Maya. “Haven’t we all made mistakes?” He reached for her hand in an older brother-like fashion. “The important thing is to learn from those mistakes and grow in the process.” Maggie silently assented. “Speaking of which—I know you volunteered to watch Maya tonight but between your upcoming online psychology midterm and your current state, I decided you could use some help, not to mention a study buddy. Ready to head downstairs?”</p><p>“Yup,” Maggie replied, though somewhat puzzled. <em>Who was the babysitter-study buddy Harry was referring to? It seemed too good to be true, </em>she thought to herself as they gingerly walked down the stairs and into the brightly-lit kitchen, where she saw a familiar mop of thick, curly hair.</p><p>
  <em>It was Jordan.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>6:30 pm, Vera Manor, Kitchen</em>
</p><p>“So I’ll, um, leave you two at it—Maya’s napping in her portable playpen <em>just so</em>—” Harry pointed to the cherubic infant currently napping nearby, her tiny gold-and-walnut curls fluttering with every breath she took, then walked outdoors to the patio to meet Macy for their transcontinental date night.</p><p>“It’s <em>you</em>,” Maggie breathed, hardly daring to believe that Jordan was here, <em>in the flesh</em>. And taking charge in the kitchen no less. “What’re you doing here?”</p><p>“Putting together a Chicago deep-dish pizza,” he responded, pulling out tomato sauce, three types of grated cheese, pre-made pizza dough, and spices out of two paper grocery bags.</p><p>“I mean,” Maggie swallowed hard. “<em>Why </em>are you here? You have no reason to be, after I broke up with you and ended up trying to…figure myself out. I should’ve been more<em> patient—</em>more<em> understanding—</em>”</p><p>Jordan looked up from examining the tomato sauce label, placed the jar down, and stepped closer to Maggie, though they were still separated by the length of the kitchen table. “It was my fault you left—I was a shitty boyfriend, and I’m sorry you had to put up with me in my first year of law school when I was balancing too much on my plate, neglecting you. You’d be proud to know I’ve outsourced my paramedics and gym duties—I hired a bunch of interns—trained ‘em and all—”</p><p>“That’s great,” Maggie began to grin, despite herself, picturing the lanky guy before her instructing a horde of college students. <em>He was always an excellent teacher, this one. </em>“The interns, I mean,” she clarified hastily. “You had a lot going on—work and stuff—"</p><p>“Speaking of work,” Jordan interrupted her, “how’s your boyfriend Martin doing?”</p><p>Maggie felt her cheeks turn red. “He’s not my boyfriend anymore,” she muttered. “We split up after he told me to figure out my unresolved feelings for another.”</p><p>“Another?” asked Jordan, crossing the length of the kitchen to sit next to Maggie. “<em>Who?</em>”</p><p>“<em>You</em>,” she whispered, as she found herself moving closer to Jordan, his face inches away from hers, <em>centimeters, </em>mere <em>millimeters</em>, as he himself drew ever nearer, their lips finally making welcome contact, those invisible, ineffable proverbial chemistry-laden sparks flying, as their mouths opened to let their tongues explore one another, once more: poet Henry Longfellow’s “two ships, passing in the night,” that had finally reunited at long last.</p><p>
  <em>6:35 pm, Vera Manor, Kitchen</em>
</p><p>A piercing wail startled the couple, as they broke apart from their heady embrace. “<em>Maya,” </em>they looked at each other and laughed. “I’ll warm her milk and feed her,” Maggie said, walking to the fridge and pulling out Maya’s next feeding, then placing the bottle in the microwave for a few seconds at a time. “What’s the plan for tonight?” she turned around and faced him.</p><p>“Making pizza, keeping Maya happy, and studying together in the living room—if that’s alright with you?” Jordan replied.</p><p>“<em>Sounds like a plan,”</em> Maggie responded.</p><p>
  <em>6:50 pm, Vera Manor, Kitchen</em>
</p><p>After Maya had been fed and satisfactorily burped, Maggie placed her gently down on the playpen area and walked over to Jordan’s pizza-making station of sorts. He’d already preheated the oven and placed the pizza crust into the cake pan. “What’s the next step?” she asked.</p><p>He held up the tomato sauce. “The fillings.”</p><p>Maggie proceeded to read aloud the recipe from Jordan’s propped-up phone. “One can of diced drained tomatoes, one can of tomato sauce, one can of tomato paste, ½ teaspoon of salt, and ¼ teaspoon each of garlic powder, dried oregano, dried basil, and pepper. Mix together in a bowl.”</p><p>Jordan did so, then laid the mixture aside, reaching for a measuring cup and the three cheeses (“<em>six cups of part-skim Mozzarella cheese and ¼ cup Parmesan</em>,” the recipe read).</p><p>“Doesn’t tomato sauce go into the pizza crust first?” Maggie asked, confused.</p><p>Jordan shook his head. “To keep a firm crust, ya gotta put the cheese and stuff first, <em>then </em>the tomato sauce,” which he proceeded to do in the next several minutes with Maggie’s assistance. She noticed that he added her favorite diced pickled banana peppers and sautéed mushrooms without her even having to ask.</p><p>“Thanks for remembering,” she said as she found herself plunking neon-yellow slices of the vegetable interspersed with the mushrooms, atop the grated cheese-spread layer.</p><p>“It’s the least I could do, Vera,” responded Jordan, who did an inward fist-pump. <em>She noticed!</em></p><p>After the pizza was fully assembled, Maggie took and uploaded a photo of it to Instagram, then into the oven the pizza went, for approximately one hour. <em>The perfect amount of time to get some serious studying done, </em>she thought to herself. <em>And in excellent company too.</em></p><p>
  <em>7:40 pm, Vera Manor, Living Room</em>
</p><p>The pair took a break from reviewing, their study materials spread out across the living room coffee table. “Jordan,” Maggie finally asked, watching him pick up Maya and bounce her about his shoulder, “how did you become so good at babysitting? And being a paramedic—and everything?”</p><p>Jordan paused, mid-step, and sat back down on the living room sofa next to Maggie. “Long story short, with the Chase family curse and all the dads dying before their kids were grown, I was the default babysitter. Lots of sad, lonely cousins missing fathers and,” his voice slightly cracked, recalling his poignant childhood memories, “I had to step in.”</p><p>“<em>Wow,” </em>breathed Maggie. “Jordan, I had no idea—”</p><p>“Yeah,” he responded. “Don’t get me wrong, it was kinda awesome at times—reading to them when they were in preschool, playing basketball with them after church on Sundays, and later, teaching them to write resumes and choose a college with a good scholarship program. <em>Still tragic though</em>. But enough about <em>that</em>—it’s the past—” he gazed at Maggie, absorbing her creamy complexion, her doe-like eyes with their ribbon-like lashes and her dark wavy hair that he could easily identify across a crowded room. “As for the future—Vera, <em>where do we stand</em>?”</p><p>“I’m trying to figure that out,” she replied, biting her lip nervously. “I left Martin less than 24 hours ago and I remember how busy you were before, and—” Maggie realized she was starting to ramble. <em>“I mean,</em> I’d like to take things slow, this time around. Figure things out, amirite? Is that ok?”</p><p>Jordan’s eyes softened, and he reached over and kissed Maggie’s forehead, in her favorite spot, where she had felt his lips in countless dreams in the previous months, though she wouldn’t dare admit it to anyone.</p><p>
  <em>2 am, Vera Manor, Living Room</em>
</p><p>Harry and Macy quietly tiptoed through the patio door, past the kitchen, to the living room, where they spotted the sleeping pair, cuddled together on the sofa, with Maya in her portable playpen nearby.</p><p>“<em>I knew they’d find their way back</em>,” a beaming Harry whispered to an equally-delighted Macy, as she used her telekinesis to place a blanket gently upon the slumbering couple.</p><p>“<em>Sweet dreams, you lovebirds</em>,” Macy murmured, scooping Maya out of her playpen and following Harry upstairs to their bedroom.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This chapter was partly inspired by Taylor Swift's newest songs "Exile" and "Cardigan."</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. High Heels & Boudreau</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>5 High Heels &amp; Boudreau</p><p>
  <em>“High heels on cobblestones…sensual politics…I knew you dancin’ in your Levi’s/Drunk under a streetlight/I knew you…” -Cardigan by Taylor Swift</em>
</p><p>
  <em>9 am, Six Months Post-Martin, Friday, SafeSpace, Outside Large Conference Room</em>
</p><p>Maggie steadied her breath, pacing back and forth, file folders in hand. The vendors for the newest coworking space initiative were feet away in the enclosed glass conference room, and she had made very sure to dress to impress, wearing a red <em>Bow Detail Bodycon </em>A-line, low-cut, form-fitting dress and five-inch black heels to further lift her petite stature.</p><p>Spotting Jordan approaching, clad in his newest vintage tee and denim jeans she knew only too well, she flagged him down. “How do I look? Imposing enough?”</p><p>He drank in the attractive form before him, his mouth dropping ever-so-slightly as he remained silent for the next several seconds. <em>Damn, Vera</em>…her wavy hair tumbled in luscious curls beneath her delicate shoulders, her red dress was cut low enough he could see a hint of her bust, and was sufficiently tight that her silhouette was all the more visible even in the darkest of SafeSpace corridors, which he imagined would give her a rather badass <em>film noir </em>appearance. <em>And the spiky tall heels</em>. <em>Was she doing this on purpose</em>? <em>Get a grip, Jordan!</em> he told himself sternly. She’s a talented coworker, an ex-turned-friend. <em>Do not mess this up. </em>He groaned imperceptibly, feeling a sudden rush of blood to his frontal nether regions, as he shifted his notebook in the general direction. <em>What would it be like for her to pin your wrists to your bed and ride you, wearing those sharpened heels? What if she took them off and stroked your beard, then slapped you for your impudence?</em></p><p><em>Not now</em>, his breath became slightly labored—</p><p>“Too much?”</p><p>“W-what?” Jordan fell back into reality and noticed that Maggie’s eyes were fixed upon his with a concerned expression.</p><p>“Did I overdo things with the heels?”</p><p>“N-no,” uttered Jordan shakily. “You look—absolutely—<em>amazing</em>.“</p><p>“Thanks,” Maggie patted his cheek (<em>affectionately or as a friend? </em>Jordan wondered), then strode into the conference room to begin her presentation. <em>Now was her moment to shine.</em></p><p>“<em>Go get ‘em, Vera</em>,” he whispered after her, and he could have sworn he saw a glimmer of a smile on that pert, pixie-like visage of hers.</p><p>
  <em>10 am, SafeSpace, Jordan’s Gym</em>
</p><p>Maggie walked into Jordan’s gym, flushed with pride over her latest success—another vendor sought—fought over, as a matter of fact—and <em>won</em>! She wanted to tell him all about how the meeting went but found his closet office door locked. “Jordan, you there?” she asked quietly. She heard a few curses mumbled under her breath as the door swung open. She took one look at his face and gasped.</p><p>“Jordan—<em>what’s wrong?” </em>Maggie cried aloud.</p><p>“A vendor was supposed to ship equipment for the gym this morning but cancelled—and I need the stuff for my thirty-person athletics seminar!”</p><p>“Is this something we can find at…say…a sporting goods store down the street?” Maggie inquired. Jordan shook his head despondently.</p><p>“Nope—they’re state-of-the-art <em>Empire Battle Tested Hard Back Fingerless </em>paintball gloves that were supposed to work for wrist, knuckle, and muscular protection—if I’d only known about this earlier, I could’ve cancelled the shipment and ordered from a different company—<em>the vendor swore it’d be here today by absolute latest</em>—but it’s too late—"</p><p>“Jordan—<em>its ok</em>—” she tried patting his back sympathetically, but he flinched from her touch and stood.</p><p>“It’s <em>not </em>ok!” he snapped. “My <em>career</em>’s on the line—every major public relations consultant from the mid-Atlantic region’s supposed to show up—what do I tell them? I. <em>am. SO. Fucked,” </em>he muttered, pounding a balled-up fist onto the closet’s wall.</p><p>“JORDAN—” Maggie yelled sharply, and he turned to her, startled out of his rant. “<em>Am I a witch or not?” </em>she raised an eyebrow.</p><p>“Oh,” Jordan said, momentarily at a loss for words. “<em>Right.</em>” After pausing for a beat, he asked, “what do you need from me?”</p><p>“A single pair of the aforementioned gloves, if you will,” responded Maggie, and Jordan immediately dug up his own pair from under his desk and placed into her outstretched hands. She proceeded to check her phone for the specific phrasing, then murmured the words, stroking the gloves tenderly at each turn of the phrase. She placed the pair of gloves atop Jordan’s desk and opened the door.</p><p>“Uh, <em>Maggie</em>?” Jordan called out after her, puzzled. “What was that supposed to do?”</p><p>“You’ll see,” Maggie casually responded. “Though I’d get out of that closet now if I were you.” Jordan leapt from his seat and strode toward Maggie. No sooner had he done so, he heard an enormous <em>BOOM </em>and a rainforest-like clatter that suddenly stopped nearly as soon as it had started. He bolted back to the closet office, where countless bundled pairs of <em>Empire Battle Tested Hard Back Fingerless </em>paintball gloves lay strewn about.</p><p>“How did you—wha—?” Jordan stared at the gloves, then back at Maggie, her eyes twinkling slyly.</p><p>“Duplication charm. Was meaning to test it out one of these days. Thirty pairs, give or take.”</p><p>Jordan’s frustration melted away, replaced by a positively jubilant expression. “Vera, <em>I love you!</em>” he then blushed. <em>Whoops.</em> “I mean…wanna grab drinks after work tonight?” Jordan inquired, fully expecting to be shot down.</p><p>“Sure, Jordan, I’d like that,” Maggie grinned, much to his surprise.</p><p>
  <em>6:30 pm, Canon, 928 12<sup>th</sup> Ave, Seattle, Washington, Happy Hour</em>
</p><p>The typewriter-like font of the titular establishment was what Maggie noticed first, followed by the postmodern industrial light sconces and Prohibition-era speakeasy atmosphere. Jordan was waiting at a barstool, and she took a seat next to him. “How was the rest of your workday, J?” she asked.</p><p>“Better, now that you’re here,” he grinned and she felt her cheeks redden, just the slightest bit. They had maintained and grown their friendship for the past several months post-Martin, and Maggie wasn’t sure where it would lead to next. “Though I’ve run into a bit of an intern snafu I’m trying to sort out.”</p><p>“How so?” Maggie frowned. Usually Jordan’s interns were well-qualified, smart, and extremely physically fit.</p><p>“I really want to hire one of my interns full-time, transition her to permanent staffing, but my boss (one of SafeSpace’s donors) has his doubts, because she’s single and pregnant and doesn’t think she’ll have the time or the energy to be a good worker. She’s amazing, and I just <em>know</em> she can excel at the job, but my boss has…<em>reservations</em>,” he sighed aloud. “I mean, I <em>get </em>that she has doctor’s appointments that’ll get more frequent, and eight weeks caring for a newborn, but she’s got a great mind on her shoulders and would really be an asset to SafeSpace.”</p><p>“According to Washington state maternity leave laws, she’s entitled to twelve weeks of paid leave,” Maggie remarked, now pulling out her phone and conducting cursory research. “And according to Harvard Business Review, when a consulting company changed its maternity leave from eight weeks to sixteen, the turnover rate for new mothers fell by 40%.”</p><p>“<em>Damn</em>,” whistled Jordan, surprised.</p><p>“And considering that 86% of American women have kids, and that women make up a sizeable portion of the workforce, hiring an ambitious woman <em>pregnant or not</em>, and having an iron-clad maternity leave system would be excellent for business, retention rates and all that. Plus, <em>people talk. </em>Everyone applying to be a part of SafeSpace community will see how you take care of its most vulnerable employees—not just young women—but guys that want families someday too—paternal leave. How ‘bout you tell your boss that, hmm?”</p><p>Maggie reached over and sipped the glass of water that appeared before her, as Jordan shook his head in amazement. “As always, Vera, you awe me with your intellect.”</p><p>“Happy to help,” she responded, and the two sat for the next few minutes in contented silence.</p><p>“Happy hour’s almost over—would you both wish to be at a booth?” the bartender asked the pair out of the blue, indicating the empty seating in question. Looking at each other, Jordan and Maggie slowly nodded, and they rose from their seats to relocate on one of the more plush forms of seating.</p><p>
  <em>7 pm, Canon, 928 12<sup>th</sup> Ave, Seattle, Washington, Plush Leather Booth</em>
</p><p>Jordan dug into his one-inch-thick burger, shiny and sizzling with caramelized mushrooms on top and reached for a couple of fries from the newspaper-print mini carton they shared. Maggie took several bites of her falafel pita sandwich, with tzatziki, sungold tomato vinaigrette, and cucumber salad, washing it all down with a gulp of Canon’s <em>Harvest Moon Frizzante</em> (an orange-pink alcoholic beverage of rum, passionfruit, lemon, champagne, angostura, and a host of other ingredients). <em>Whew, this definitely hits the spot, </em>she mused to herself blissfully.</p><p>Just then, she saw Jordan take a sip of his <em>Old Boudreau’s Insanely Small Batch Bourbon</em> and couldn’t help stifle a giggle. <em>Insanely small</em>. And <em>Jordan. An oxymoron if there ever was one.</em></p><p>“Having issues, Vera?” Jordan smirked, his fingers now tracing the topmost edges of his bourbon glass.</p><p>“N-<em>no</em>,” stammered Maggie. <em>Oh, man. Must be the alcohol. Think sad puppy thoughts. Think sad kitten thoughts. Rainstorms. Mud puddles. Lots and lots of mud puddles—</em>and her mind seized upon a past event of late. <em>Maya’s birthday. </em>“I’m sorry I didn’t invite you to Maya’s 1<sup>st</sup> birthday last year,” she began.</p><p>“No worries—I kinda deserved that,” replied Jordan, his voice taking a more serious tone. “I was a hot mess during 1L.”</p><p>Maggie shook her head vigorously. “<em>No way—</em>you just had a lot going on. And <em>I’m </em>the hot mess. I regretted not inviting you—when I walked Maya out the door to Vera Manor Garden, and you weren’t there—she’s basically your niece too—<em>I’m sorry,” </em>she ended in a whisper, avoiding his eyes.</p><p>He lifted her visage upward and wiped a stray tear from her cheek. “I wasn’t ready for you then, but I’m here now. I know—” he paused, then forged ahead, “—I know we’re coworkers, but I can’t do that anymore.”</p><p>“Jordan, what do you mean—where’re you going?” <em>Oh no, he’s leaving! </em>Maggie thought to herself in horror, as she struggled to maintain her composure.</p><p>“I’m not going <em>anywhere</em>, Vera,” he responded in that gravelly low alto-baritone thrum she loved so much, causing her toes to involuntarily curl. “No matter how hard I try to keep things friendly, cordial—<em>I want more</em>. I want <em>you, </em>Maggie Vera, I want you and that beautiful, magical empath heart of yours.”</p><p>Wordlessly, Maggie reached over the table, clasping his hand in hers. “Can we—” she hesitated. “Can we talk more at your apartment? <em>Tonight?</em>” Jordan nodded, exhaling in one fell swoop, having held his breath for the past several seconds, not knowing what Maggie would decide.</p><p>
  <em>7:40 pm, Several Blocks Away, West Woodland Neighborhood, Seattle, Washington</em>
</p><p>Jordan and Maggie ambled back to his apartment past the glowing opalescent orbs of the interspersed streetlights, occasionally stumbling in their somewhat tipsy haze. “So—<em>Jordan</em>—” remarked Maggie out of the blue. “Why don’t you ever call me Maggie?”</p><p>He blushed, glad that the darkness hid his features only too well. “Thought you’d never ask. Hoped you wouldn’t…” he trailed off.</p><p>“<em>Well?” </em></p><p>“Ok, so, I know this sounds weird, but—I had a college roommate who had a pet iguana he’d hide under his shirt and bring to class once in a while. Critter nibbled on the lettuce he’d snag from the cafeteria.”</p><p>“And…lemme guess…the iguana’s name was Maggie?” she inquired, not-so-subtly.</p><p>“Bingo. So there was this one time my roommate got drunk and the iguana escaped its cage, and when I opened my eyes the next morning I shrieked like a banshee—Maggie got under my pillow and was biting my wrist.”</p><p>“Oh. <em>My. Gawd.</em>” Maggie burst into a fit of giggles, snorted, then quickly recovered herself. “I mean—<em>dude—</em>were you ok?”</p><p>“Yeah, after a trip to the nurse. Guy got kicked out though, and his iguana too. Turned out he was involved in <em>all </em>sorts of shady things off campus…”</p><p>“…Therein concluding the story of ‘Maggie the Iguana,’” Maggie mock-gestured wildly, in the spirit of Shakespearean actors, as she tried to walk a straight path, not an easy feat given her high heels kept tripping over the uneven cobblestone path that led to Jordan’s building, <em>nearly </em>drunk under a streetlight.</p><p>“<em>And why</em> <em>you’ve always been my Vera,” </em>Jordan finished, shaking his head at the absurd memory as they made their way to his building, (<em>how very industrial chic</em>, Maggie mused, observing the bare grey walls and hexagonal white front desk, surrounded by metallic buttercup yellow chairs). They took the elevator and landed on his floor.</p><p> <em>7:50 pm, AVA Ballard Apartment</em></p><p>Jordan turned the key and the pair stepped into his abode. It occurred to Maggie that he’d always come over to Vera Manor and not the other way around. She surveyed the kitchen, with its wood flooring and turquoise backsplash. “<em>Dude,” </em>she exclaimed in wonderment, “your digs are <em>sweet.</em> How come I never once came here while we were dating?”</p><p>He laughed shyly. “Because it was quiet—<em>too </em>quiet<em>, </em>here. And my schoolbooks and notes were strewn everywhere. Tl;dr: it was <em>a mess</em>.”</p><p>“It’s so sleek and…and <em>modern</em>,” Maggie walked past the kitchen straight ahead to the living room area, with its royal blue corduroy-button couch and clear plasticine coffee table, which faced a minimalist low wooden shelf that had a flat-screen TV atop it. “Not to be weird, but don’t apartments have a bathroom?”</p><p>“<em>And </em>a bedroom, yes,” Jordan shifted the translucent sliding door, revealing a decent-sized bedroom with a queen-sized bed with grey, slate, and sunshine yellow throw pillows, and a wall painted in a bright, cheery <em>YInMn </em>blue color, the hue that, if Maggie recalled correctly, had been recently discovered by an Oregon State professor two years ago. She peered in then gave a sharp <em>yelp</em> as her ankles nearly gave way; Jordan caught her before she fell to the floor and carried her to the corduroy sofa.</p><p>
  <em>7:59 pm, AVA Ballard Apartment, Corduroy Sofa</em>
</p><p>Jordan, kneeling before Maggie, looked up at her. <em>May I? </em>Jordan’s eyes seemed to ask, and she assented, whereon he gingerly removed her inches-long heels from her now-blistered, aching feet. She winced, <em>“Ow…” </em>and Jordan walked over to the kitchen, returning with a sandwich baggie of ice, which he lay on her toes.</p><p>“Better?” he asked, sweeping a lock of hair from Maggie’s face. She nodded.</p><p>“Thanks,” Maggie replied gratefully, watching as he made a beeline for his trusty first aid kit, retrieving from it a couple of Band-Aids and antibacterial cream to prevent infection. He applied both to the blisters on her sore feet and sat beside her, gently massaging them. <em>Oh sweet Jesus, </em>she thought, her eyes slowly closing in ecstasy,<em> she might come then and there. What on earth had she seen in Martin? </em>She groaned loudly, and Jordan paused, alarmed.</p><p>“Are you hurt?”</p><p>Maggie blushed. <em>His hands on her skin, no matter where, always gave her a startling instantaneous tingling sensation emerging from her extremities, trickling, enveigling, swarming its way down her sinewy veins and artery roadmaps, down the pit of her stomach, blossoming into a torrid heat in a certain region down below…</em>”N-no, keep going. <em>It feels really fucking fantastic</em>,” she murmured, one hand tightly clenched on Jordan’s shoulder. “I haven’t been touched that way since—” she faltered, “<em>I can’t remember when.”</em></p><p>“Sex god Martin didn’t quite do it for you then?” Maggie could have sworn Jordan was trying to be cheeky but wasn’t completely sure.</p><p>“No, caused me a lot more pain than I’d bargained for. Remember the vase incident?”</p><p>“That time you staggered like a drunken sailor and fell into the fern pot, you mean?” Jordan continued to rub her feet, switching from one foot to the other.</p><p>“Yeah…” Maggie trailed off. “That was after he tried pummeling my insides. I still have a couple of bruises—” and she showed Jordan who’d paused in his movements, his eyebrows raised in shock, followed by slow-mounting fury. “He didn’t do it to me on purpose—he just thought that’s how sex worked—”</p><p>“<em>That bastard,” </em>Jordan muttered. “Vera—<em>I was there—</em>I could’ve <em>done </em>something! Given you ice—”</p><p>“Yeah, like hell you would,” Maggie remarked wryly.</p><p>“<em>Try me</em>,” Jordan’s eyes dilated as he stared at the markings.</p><p>“Fine, J—what <em>would</em> you have done?” Maggie asked as her and Jordan’s eyes locked for one long moment. He rose from his seated position, closing the apartment blinds in the living room and the bedroom then returned, sitting next to her as he reached over and kissed the tiny bruise over her G-spot, twice, then <em>several</em> times, taking a broad finger and gently palpating it. He placed the palm of his hand over her abdomen, rubbing her skin gently, then motioned her to turn around as he sat directly astride massaging her back, starting with the kinks in her upper shoulders, melting away the vestiges of pressure that lay within her neck. <em>Who knew sports medicine could be this erotic?</em></p><p>Maggie emitted another groan, and Jordan felt himself harden as he tried to will his sordid thoughts away. <em>She wants to take things slow, remember? </em>Jordan told himself sternly. But another line of thought wormed its way into his head. <em>The spiky high-heeled shoes, touching the tip of his shoulders, encircling the circumference of his visage, her bossy nature downright alluring, </em>or so he imagined, <em>coupled with a well-earned slap for having stared at her sumptuous backside earlier in the day. Fuck, </em>he shivered. <em>This wasn’t going away anytime soon.</em></p><p>
  <em>8:05 pm, AVA Ballard Apartment, Corduroy Sofa then Bedroom</em>
</p><p>She felt his erection lengthen and stiffen beneath his jeans as he squirmed against her, trying to concentrate and complete the last portion of her massage. Maggie abruptly turned around, her legs moving to straddle his as she kissed him furiously, as their lips met in that moment, their tongues in silent thrall, exploring each other’s upwards crevices as their own hands wandered over the other’s body. She soon found herself dry humping the coarse fabric of his denim jeans as he tried in vain to stifle a gasp. “<em>Bedroom?” </em>Maggie whispered, and Jordan nodded, hoisting her up and carrying her over the threshold separating the living room from his sleeping quarters, closing the translucent sliding door behind him.</p><p>They tumbled onto the bed, Maggie hurriedly pulling off Jordan’s vintage t-shirt and flinging it halfway across the room. “Are you sure about this?” Jordan asked Maggie as he shed his denim jeans by the foot of his bed, and she breathlessly assented; he bade her to turn around as he unzipped her out of her seductive red dress, savoring the scent of a lock of her hair, which brought forth visions of misty summer dew, cinnamon spice, and crisp apples on a sultry day. Her red dress tumbled away and fell off the edge of the bed to the floor as she stared at his bare chest, his dark blackwatch plaid boxers, the outline of himself pressing forward from beneath its cloth-restricted environ.</p><p>Somehow, before they broke up ages ago, they hadn’t found the time to progress beyond third base<em>—if that. </em>Maggie’s own internalized rules of when to have relations with a member of the opposite sex had dictated her love life, and they’d split up just hours before the full six months had been met—and she had always adhered to the “six month rule” when dating—<em>no ifs, ands, or buts</em>. Seeing Jordan’s muscular form, however, she silently wondered whether she ought to make an amendment to that supposedly iron-clad rule. <em>Rules were made to be broken, right?</em></p><p>Noticing how Jordan seemed to have a thing for…<em>feet? Sensuality? Shoes? </em>A sudden burst of inspiration hit her, and she put a finger to Jordan’s lips; his back was now flush with the headboard, and his washboard abs…<em>oh man, </em>Maggie shivered. <em>If I’d known those were there, I never would’ve called it quits in the first place…</em>She slid the door open, retrieved her spiky heels from the living room, raced back, and closed the sliding door shut behind her.</p><p>Maggie looked down at the shoes, and back at Jordan, who mouthed, “<em>put them on…please?” </em></p><p>“Oh,” she said, feigning innocence. “Like this?” She slid one five-inch spiked heel shoe slowly onto her left foot, and Jordan groaned aloud from where he sat atop the bed.</p><p>“<em>God, Vera, you’re killing me,” </em>he muttered, watching with rapt attention as Maggie now proceeded to slip a spiked heel shoe onto her right foot. <em>Naked except for her bra and underwear, and her tall shoes. </em>Maggie balanced herself steady, and made deliberate, feline-like steps toward the bed, moving closer to Jordan’s form until she was astride him. She disentangled his engorged self from his fabric boxers and took a tentative lick, then another, as he grabbed a fistful of hair and tugged, causing her to yelp involuntarily.</p><p>“Sorry—” Jordan began, but Maggie placed her finger in his mouth, fishhook-style, catching upon his cheek, as she reached up and bit his neck, choosing at this very moment to remove one shoe, its spiked edge tracing the outline of his thick, frizzy hair.  </p><p>“Sensitive scalp is all,” she casually replied as she used her other shoe to boost and position herself <em>just so</em>, rubbing her outer folds with his leaking tip.</p><p><em>“Fuck,” </em>murmured Jordan. “Vera—<em>please.” </em>The sound of <em>him, </em>this lanky, muscular, self-assured genius, jack-of-all-trades, losing all decent sense of composure, positively <em>begging </em>for her warmth, <em>aching </em>for her sordid presence, caused herself to moisten as she sank down onto him, both gasping at the sudden intimate contact, becoming aware of the thrum of each other’s steady heartbeats. Jordan’s hands reached for Maggie’s hips, to reassure himself that he wasn’t imagining things—or knocked out in an evil hospital mortuary ward—that this scene was <em>real</em>, in all of its seductive leanings.</p><p>But Maggie slapped his hands away and swiftly pinned them to the baseboard, between her thrusts down below. Jordan exhaled sharply and returned suit with a rhythm of his own, slowly, tenuously, diffidently at first, then more rapid, faster, then a frenetic pace as Jordan yanked his wrists free from Maggie’s grasp and sank them onto both sides of Maggie’s hips, ploughing into her as deep as he could possibly go, <em>and then some</em>. “<em>Maggie—I’m—”</em></p><p>Maggie clenched herself as she reached forward to whisper sultry Spanish phrases into his ear. “<em>Jodida entra dentro de mi.” </em>And he did, unleashing spurt upon spurt of his essence as they rode the waves of their pleasure, long into the night.</p><p>
  <em>9 am, Next Morning, AVA Ballard Apartment, Bedroom</em>
</p><p>She yawned and blinked her eyes slowly; it was the first time in ages she hadn’t had a nightmare coupled with a near-panic attack. Instead of the familiar blue textured sham blanket, however, she found herself cozily ensconced within the warm, melanin arms of none other than a nude (<em>and rather irresistible, </em>if she were honest with herself) Jordan Chase. <em>Who also happened to be her coworker. Damn, that must’ve been some alcohol last night, </em>she thought to herself as she silently crept out of bed and made as if to grab her red dress sitting on the floor next to her, but she felt an arm grab hers.</p><p>“Please—<em>please </em>don’t disappear on me, Vera,” she heard a masculine voice say, just as she was envisioning the inevitable walk of shame back to Vera Manor. She spun around. <em>Jordan, fully awake, oy vey.  </em>“Vera—Margarita<em>—Maggie</em>—” he swallowed hard as Maggie leapt up and, seizing her dress, speed-walked toward the door, her hand touching the barest millimeter of the grooved handle. “I love you.”</p><p>Her hand paused as she slowly turned around. “<em>What did you say?” </em>she asked softly.</p><p><em>“I love you,”</em> he repeated, his voice pleading. “I love the way you snore when you sleep and embrace joy in this cynical world. I love your ambitious determination that makes me happy to come into the office every morning. I’ve missed grabbing coffee with you in the downstairs café—the way you draw hearts on your napkin when you think nobody’s looking—how you defend the disenfranchised—I miss your eyes gazing inches away from mine—but most of all—I miss <em>you.”</em></p><p>Maggie crept toward the bed slowly and sat next to him. After several minutes of silence, she spoke. “Do I <em>really</em> snore?”</p><p>Jordan chuckled lightly as he kissed a lock of Maggie’s wavy hair. “A teensy bit, but it’s pretty damn adorable.”</p><p>“So are you, J, so are you,” as she kissed him soundly on the lips.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This entire chapter was definitely inspired by Taylor Swift's newest song "Cardigan."</p><p>WA state pregnancy and parental leave: https://lni.wa.gov/workers-rights/leave/pregnancy-parental-leave</p><p>Harvard Business Review: "How Companies Can Ensure Maternity Leave Doesn't Hurt Women's Careers" (2018): https://www.google.com/amp/s/hbr.org/amp/2018/09/how-companies-can-ensure-maternity-leave-doesnt-hurt-womens-careers</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Heartbeat on High Line</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>6 Heartbeat on High Line</p><p>
  <em>“I knew you/Playing hide-and-seek…I knew you/Your heartbeat on the High Line/Once in twenty lifetimes…” -Cardigan by Taylor Swift</em>
</p><p>
  <em>6:45 pm, Two Years Later, Vera Manor Garden Patio</em>
</p><p>Maggie grinned. “I found the <em>perfect</em> place for you two to enjoy date night, and Harry’s already been filled in. Tickets for two, et cetera…”</p><p>“What about Maya? I need to keep an eye on her, she’s only three—” interjected Macy.</p><p>“We’ll keep an eye on Maya overnight in Vera Manor, right, Jordan?” said Maggie.</p><p>Jordan nodded. “We’d be more than happy to—we’ll introduce her palate to sautéed shrimp, lime-citrus rice, and healthy greens. We’ll watch an age-appropriate movie, bake unicorn cupcakes, and read her as many bedtime stories as she possibly wants. How’s that sound?” Jordan was presenting Macy with a tantalizing plan, and he knew it.</p><p>“Maggie’s a Charmed One too, Macy, and she’s just completed her course studies in child psychology. We couldn’t ask for a better sitter. Plus, Jordan’s CPR-certified,” Harry murmured in Macy’s ear.</p><p>“Oh—<em>alright</em>,” Macy said finally, acknowledging defeat at last. “Though, y’know, shrimp and lime-citrus rice <em>do </em>sound nice…”</p><p>“You’ll have <em>far </em>more interesting food where you two are going, so no need to worry your head over that,” Maggie said, her eyes twinkling at the thrill of planning a surprise for her oldest sister. “You two are going to have. <em>So. Much. Fun!” </em>she squealed in excitement.</p><p>
  <em>5 am/12 pm Azores/1 pm Portugal, One Week Later, Vera Manor, Macy’s Bedroom</em>
</p><p>Macy and Harry quietly orbed into her Vera Manor bedroom, leaving Maya with a large pile of coloring books and just as many markers (<em>which only worked on paper, not wallpaper or fabric</em>). Their daughter was under strict instructions to stay put until 7 am on the dot, when Maggie would wake up and fix Maya her healthy bowl of freshly-cut fruit.</p><p>As Maggie had instructed them, their information lay under Macy’s pillow. She felt underneath its cotton linen and pulled out a thin white envelope. “<em>Tickets for Two,” </em>it read.</p><p>“Tickets for two…to <em>where</em>?” Macy asked, puzzled. Harry grinned, beckoning her to take his arm, which she did, and the two disappeared from the Vera Manor bedroom with a <em>pop</em>.</p><p>
  <em>7 am, Vera Manor, Maggie’s Bedroom to Hallway</em>
</p><p>Maggie awoke to a soft knock at the door. “<em>Aunt Maggie?” </em>she heard a tiny voice whisper. <em>Maya. </em>She put on a tank top and pajama bottoms and opened the door, closing it behind her, and bent down to embrace her young niece.</p><p>“Aw, <em>sweetie</em>, thanks for letting Aunt Maggie get her beauty rest. How’s breakfast and cartoons sound?”</p><p>“Awesome!” she held Maggie’s hand as they slowly descended the Vera Manor staircase, venturing forth into the kitchen.</p><p>
  <em>7:10 am, Vera Manor, Kitchen</em>
</p><p>“Which do you want?” Maggie brandished three different types of sugared cereal. One featured a leprechaun with miniature lucky marshmallows, the second had what appeared to be miniature graham crackers, and the third had a toucan on front, with little O-shaped colored bits. Maya pointed to the first, and Maggie prepared themselves each a small bowl of cereal with milk. She added a side of sliced apple so she could tell Harry that his child indeed had eaten a semi-well-balanced breakfast, and turned on the living room television.</p><p>While Maya was happily munching away on sugared cereal and watching cartoons to her heart’s delight, Maggie was busy skimming the Kitten Lady’s Instagram page for updates on her newest batch of rescued kittens. She recalled reading last year how Hannah, the Kitten Lady, had discovered a handful of ten-day-old kittens near an herb garden, naming them Rosemary, Peppermint, Basil, and Sage. She had followed their story for weeks on end up until three of them were adopted (<em>one sadly perished)</em>, thus initiating a conversation soon thereafter with Jordan about when they could consider adopting a kitten of their own. He’d been in his second year of law school, completing an externship while working at the gym, and told her to reconsider a year later, when he was nearing the completion of his final year of law school.</p><p>
  <em>And here she was, exactly one year later, on the dot.</em>
</p><p>“Uncle Jordan!” Maya shrieked as a tall, yawning man sleepily ambled into the brightly-lit kitchen. “Want some cereal?” She showed him the various choices, but he politely shook his head.</p><p>“No thanks, Maya—I’m good. Probably gonna make a smoothie though,” and so he did, having gathered orange juice, a frozen banana, and a couple of frozen blackberries and strawberries from the freezer, not before murmuring “<em>Morning Vera</em>,” kissing Maggie’s neck and looking over her shoulder as she tried to hide her phone from him. He grabbed it and looked. “Kitten Lady? And all the new kitties—<em>d’awwww</em>…” his eyes softened at the latest photo of Haroun, the resident “dad-cat” that kept the kittens in line and taught them “how to cat.” Usually the mother cat would teach them, but in situations such as these, the mother cat was often injured or otherwise indisposed. If nobody taught the kittens the basics of self-cleaning or behavior, they would grow to fear humans and risked a life of danger, homelessness, and early death.</p><p>“Yeah,” muttered Maggie, putting her phone face-down on the kitchen countertop as she resumed eating her now-soggy marshmallow cereal, its rainbow colors all blended together into a pale blue-grey amalgamation. “<em>Wish we had our own</em>.”</p><p>“We will, soon—” Jordan replied, between dicing the frozen fruit and pulsing the smoothie ingredients in the blender feet away. “I’m almost done with law school—I just need to get more settled in with Vera Manor—and make sure the kitten has a solid home to call its own. Wouldn’t want the kitten to get confused on where it lives, right?”</p><p>“No,” replied Maggie slowly. “Of course not.” Over the past two years, Jordan and Maggie picked up where they left off; he had kept his apartment as his study space and came over most weekends to spend time with Maggie and help babysit Maya. They walked to and from work and grabbed coffee together whenever they had a free moment. <em>Was she asking too much of him, demanding even more of her time? </em>Maggie couldn’t help but wonder to herself. In the same breath, she remembered that every other woman her age with a steady boyfriend had begun cohabitating within a year or two, and she couldn’t help but feel like the odd one out. <em>Was she missing anything by not waking up next to him, every single day, within or outside the confines of marriage? </em>She hadn’t the faintest idea; she knew she wanted to keep him on his toes—and keep him on his toes, <em>she had</em>, up until now.</p><p>Even if they weren’t living together, cohabitating <em>per se</em>, Jordan was beginning to leave traces of himself throughout Vera Manor. First, it was his bright royal blue toothbrush—<em>a soothing color for a dental hygienic tool</em>, Maggie mused to herself. Then, one afternoon, Maggie peeked under her bed and shrieked, thinking that an infantile shadow monster had taken up residence within. <em>Nope</em>, Jordan said, chuckling, fishing his blackwatch plaid boxers from the shadowed corner. Then it was a Prosser Torts law textbook on the living room coffee table, which was soon followed by a giant SafeSpace coffee thermos, several pieces of printer paper, and a couple of well-used emerald-green cardigan sweaters.</p><p>
  <em>She wondered, not for the last time that day, when she would see him at her doorstep, ready to move in and begin a settled life with her.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>8:20 am, Seattle’s High Line Park, Playground</em>
</p><p>Maya ran excitedly, arms flailing in the wind, toward the geodesic circular playground structure, climbing the edges and making her way upwards to the very top of this half-cylindrical piece, that easily appeared as though it could stand in for art at the local contemporary design museum. Once her sugar high had abated somewhat, she climbed down and made a break for the larger playground equipment—two slides: one straight and the other curlicued, two pairs of jungle gym bars, a rope ladder, and at least eight separate swings.</p><p>“Maya,” panted Maggie, chasing after the youngster. “How about a game of hide-and-go-seek? You and Uncle Jordan hide, I count to ten, and I find you?” Maya tossed her cherubic curls this way and that, nodding vigorously, as Jordan raced up alongside her and clasped her tiny hand. “<em>One…two…three…four…five…six…seven…eight…nine…nine-and-a-half…nine-and-three-quarters…TEN!” </em>Maggie uncovered her eyes and regarded the swingset and geodesic dome. No Maya or Jordan. <em>That would’ve been too easy</em>, she mused to herself, as she walked along the playground’s perimeter.</p><p>Maggie shielded her eyes from the sun, glancing upward at the plastic towers that led to the two separate slides. <em>Nope. </em>She passed the jungle gym bars and the tiny plastic cove beneath the plastic tower next to the five-foot-tall rope ladder. <em>I am totally hiding there on my turn</em>, she told herself. <em>Shaded from the sun, yet not so tucked away that people forget to search for you, </em>recalling the time, a decade-and-a-half ago, when she’d played hide-and-go-seek with Mel, and she’d hidden herself so well that it took Mel, Ray, and Marisol hours to find her. She’d been in the kitchen pantry the entire time and had fallen fast asleep; Marisol had banned hide-and-go-seek from thereon in, much to the girls’ dismay.</p><p>She rounded the edge of the curlicued slide and heard a tiny giggle coming from a metallic camouflage-printed life-sized playground toy car interior. Maggie stepped closer to investigate, and peered into the windowless frame, to find little Maya and Jordan lurking just behind. “You found us Aunt Maggie!”</p><p>
  <em>11:30 am, Vera Manor Garden</em>
</p><p>After their playground jaunt, Jordan and Maggie brought their study materials to the outdoor picnic table, plus plenty of construction paper and crayons for Maya. Jordan’s study materials mainly comprised his technology law and social justice textbooks, plus his laptop containing the draft of a brief due the next weekday. Maggie opened her adolescent psychology textbook and began reading, jotting down notes on a sheet of paper in front of her. Reviewing psychology and its intricacies came naturally to Maggie’s empath abilities, though generating the willpower to restart and continue her academic studies when there was so much tumult in the magical and mortal realms was certainly a challenge. It was comforting, though, to know she wasn’t alone, being surrounded with her family, all of whom were writing (or in Maya’s case, <em>drawing</em>) something at this juncture of their lives.</p><p>
  <em>5 pm, Vera Manor Kitchen</em>
</p><p>Maggie prepared three cups of rice in the rice cooker, and set it to steam for approximately nineteen minutes, with the salt, lime juice, and one cup of fresh-chopped cilantro at the ready. <em>It was a shortcut, but a necessary one, given they were babysitting a tiny magical child that required every ounce of their waking attention. </em>She could’ve sworn, while she was studying earlier, that one of Maya’s drawings of a dragon began to spew flames and thought the edge of the drawing looked the teensiest bit singed with smoke. <em>Or was it her overactive and sleep-deprived imagination?</em></p><p>Meanwhile, Jordan placed a half teaspoon of olive oil on a nonstick pan, followed by the shrimp and spinach greens, which he lightly sautéed on medium heat for the next several minutes. Soon, a tantalizing aroma of skillet shrimp, greens, and citrus lime rice enveloped the kitchen, wafting its way throughout Vera Manor. The kitchen lights, initially bright and utterly fluorescent, had dimmed of its own accord, creating a rather cozy, tropical ambiance as Maggie played a YouTube recording of ocean waves.</p><p>Over dinner, Jordan remarked on the kitchen’s lighting and his current technology law study topic—the Internet of Things (IoT)—the concept that there were certain devices, such as Amazon Echo, or those doorbell cameras, a system of interrelated computing devices that could transfer data over a network without requiring human-to-human or human-to-computer interaction. “Vera, does this house have a light sensor attached to the kitchen?”</p><p>Maggie laughed aloud. The Victorian house was old as blazes. “There’s, like, <em>no way</em> that’d be possible. The house would probably get super pissed.”</p><p>Jordan looked confused, as Maggie and Maya ate the aromatic shrimp, greens, and lime rice. “You’re saying the house has…a <em>personality</em>?” he asked slowly. “Like, it’s a giant Amazon Alexa?”</p><p>Maggie shrugged. “I dunno. Honestly, it’s just—a <em>vibe </em>I get, I guess. Maybe it’s the empath in me? It’s not alive like a smart house, but more…” she paused. “Breathing, with a pulse, even if you can’t always hear it or see it. But somehow, you know its alive, and it would protect you and your family. Like those ‘80s kid baseball movies that always took place during the summer, where there’s this tiny kid that constantly gets picked on by the rest of the group, but when the big bad bullies show up, everyone rallies around and pummels the stuffing out of the bad guys. Or the overprotective mom trope, where someone says something about how her kid’s bangs are too short, and she’s all <em>fight me, beyotch.</em>”</p><p>Jordan laughed aloud. “Now those are analogies you don’t hear every day.”</p><p>“True,” Maggie remarked, scooping the last of the lime rice grains from her plate. “<em>Delish.” </em>She took her and Maya’s now-finished plates to the sink, where she began washing the dishes. “Tl;dr, your question,” she said to Jordan, “no sensor, yes house alive. But, protective and sweet—not, like, “<em>Monster House,” </em>creepy, y’know what I mean?”</p><p>He shook his head, still smiling though. “Honestly, Vera, no I <em>don’t</em> know, but spending time with your family, there’s a lot I’ll never fully understand. And, hey,” he shrugged, “I’m cool with that. Y’all saved me from the Mortimer Curse and I’m always open to learning more, broadening my horizons,” he said as he swung a giggling Maya into his arms from her booster chair, walking several paces toward his girlfriend of two years.</p><p>“And <em>that</em>,” remarked Maggie, “is why you’re my boyfriend,” as she stood on the tips of her toes to plant a kiss on Jordan’s warm, and altogether sensuous lips.</p><p>
  <em>6 pm, Vera Manor Kitchen</em>
</p><p>The dinner leftovers and dishes cleared away, it was now time to bake the pièce de résistance: unicorn cupcakes. Maggie read off the ingredients as Jordan ensured each were located within the kitchen and placed on the table in front of them, in the order read. “Two-and-a-half cups all-purpose flour, two cups of sugar, three teaspoons baking powder, one teaspoon of salt, one cup of whole milk, half a cup of vegetable oil, one tablespoon of vanilla extract, two large eggs, two-third cup of water, and purple food coloring.”</p><p>“Done and done,” replied Jordan, panting slightly from having thrown the ingredients together at nearly the same pace. “How do we combine them?”</p><p>“Ummm….” Maggie reread the recipe. “It says to preheat the oven to 350 Fahrenheit, then says to add all the dry ingredients, and all wet ingredients separately.” In response, Jordan turned the oven on to the requisite temperature and began combining the dry, then the wet ingredients, gently folding the moist portion into the former’s bowl. “And two drops of the—” she glanced at where the purple food coloring should have been. “Where’s the food coloring?”</p><p>“Weird, I literally put it there a few seconds ago—I coulda sworn—” Jordan began, and heard a stifled giggle beneath the table, just under where the tiny inches-tall bottle should have been. Jordan and Maggie knelt to investigate and gasped.</p><p>
  <em>Maya had opened the violet food coloring, and she was covered head to toe in the stuff!</em>
</p><p>“<em>Shit</em>,” breathed Maggie. Without hesitating, she grabbed the squirmy toddler and raced upstairs to wash off whatever purple would come off her skin. Luckily, the hue was neither permanent nor long-lasting, and after a half hour of bathing Maya, placing her in a fresh set of star-printed pajamas, and putting her stained clothes in the basement laundry to wash, Maggie plodded back upstairs to the kitchen, where Jordan was readying the purple cupcakes for icing.</p><p>
  <em>6:50 pm, Vera Manor Kitchen</em>
</p><p>“How many sprinkles can I use?” Maya asked Jordan, her hand poised above the paper cup of silver and gold metallic-colored edible star-shaped sprinkles.</p><p>“As many as you want,” he and Maggie laughed, throwing each other a subtle look. <em>Daddy’s going to be upset, </em>Maya mused to herself. <em>Don’t use too much sugar, Maya, </em>he’d always admonish. <em>An apple a day keeps the doctor away. </em></p><p>“<em>Go wild, kid,”</em> Maggie affectionately ruffled Maya’s curls and kissed her atop her forehead. She couldn’t wait until she had kids of her own. She’d probably bake unicorn cupcakes at least once a month.</p><p>
  <em>8 pm, Vera Manor Kitchen</em>
</p><p>After the three had frosted the dozen or so cupcakes, Maya was allowed half of one, which she ate with a small cup of milk, then it was bedtime for her. Jordan volunteered to go upstairs and read her <em>five</em>(!) short bedtime stories, much to Maya’s delight. Once he finished and Maya was sound asleep, he closed the bedroom door and softly walked down the manor stairs, past the darkened living room, to the kitchen where Maggie was covered head-to-toe in purple frosting.</p><p>“<em>Jeez, </em>Vera, what happened?” Jordan exclaimed.</p><p>“I-I dunno,” Maggie responded, equally confused. “I was cleaning the leftover purple frosting from the muffin tin, and the frosting…it…it…<em>jumped</em> me.”</p><p>“Wait, <em>what?</em>” Jordan examined Maggie’s front, and licked a bit of frosting off of her hair. “Mmmm…<em>violet.</em>”</p><p>“Jordan, <em>this isn’t funny!” </em>shrieked Maggie, as she surveyed herself through her reflection off a nearby window. “All my favorite shirts are in the laundry downstairs—I don’t have anything to wear!”</p><p>He stifled a laugh as Maggie continued to bemoan her current circumstances. “Vera, this is a first world problem—I mean, Maya’s down for the count, and its just me here, and I’ve <em>definitely </em>seen you—”</p><p>“—I <em>know</em>,” Maggie responded testily, her patience beginning to wane with every breath she took, infuriated by Jordan’s bemused expression.</p><p>“Ok, <em>look</em>,” Jordan crept closer, now hugging Maggie’s form, purple frosting and all, licking another dab of icing from her wavy locks. “I have a spare sweatshirt you can borrow—it’s super long, which means it’d double as a nightie if you wore it. Could that work, babe?” Maggie nodded and finally smiled as she slowly broke away from him to head upstairs for a shower.</p><p>“Aren’t you coming too?” Maggie turned from where she was mid-way up the banister and stared down at him.</p><p>“Oh—you mean—” Jordan stuttered.</p><p>“You’re covered in just as much purple as me,” Maggie bit her lip to keep from laughing. “Be there in five, Jordan.”</p><p>“<em>You got it, Vera,” </em>he half-whispered to himself, as he turned back to do a quick scrub of the kitchen countertop, then head upstairs.</p><p>
  <em>8:10 pm, Vera Manor, Upstairs Bathroom</em>
</p><p>The sound of running water could be heard as Maggie continued to adjust the tap, steam filling the enclosed space. She heard the door close softly behind her. <em>Jordan. </em></p><p>Clad only in her underwear, Maggie watched as he removed his stained purple shirt, throwing it onto the heap of already-gathered outfits, all of which was colored the very same iridescent hue. She stepped into the bath and he followed. “I thought you were taking a shower?” he asked. Maggie shook her head.</p><p>“There’s too much purple in my hair—I need to get every last bit out. <em>Can you assist?” </em>Maggie turned around Jordan found himself disentangling bits of sugar from the lower half of her tresses.</p><p>“<em>With pleasure,” </em>he whispered in her ear, as she gave an involuntary shiver. He used his index finger and thumb to press and remove each individual violet-colored granule, working his way upward, his motions growing increasingly sensual (<em>or was it Maggie’s imagination?). </em>Then, his hands wandered to her shoulders, massaging in the only way he knew how, unraveling the soreness of her upper muscles, the tightness inveigling her errant shoulder blades, until she could feel herself moisten, noticing the firmness that began to prod the very base of her tailbone.</p><p>She turned around, positioning herself so that her body was straddling his muscular form. Locking eyes, he nodded and she proceeded to sink down on <em>him</em>. <em>“Fuck me,” </em>she blurted out.</p><p>“<em>Language, </em>Vera<em>,” </em>growled Jordan in response, panting as he continued to drive himself further into her innermost sanctum. Water splashed upward in beads, then droplets, and <em>larger </em>still, but the couple remained utterly oblivious as they continued to acclimate to each other’s bodies in the steamy recesses of the upstairs Vera Manor bathroom. Their kisses, grazing each other’s shoulders and necks, grew increasingly frantic, punctuated with a slap to the rear, courtesy of Maggie. “<em>Boss me around, </em>Vera,” he breathed aloud.</p><p>“<em>Will do, J,” </em>Maggie murmured, licking and biting the softest part of Jordan’s earlobe as he gasped aloud. “<em>Wish I had a ruler to whack your ass, the nerve of you, staring at me when I tripped over that fern from being fucked by an errant sex god,” </em>she whispered, as he shivered in her thrall. “<em>Should’ve locked you in your gym closet and sucked you dry when I had the chance,” </em>she continued as she executed a well-positioned thrust forward, and <em>again, </em>once more, causing Jordan to groan loudly, clutching the edge of the bathtub with one clenched fist and grasping the ends of Maggie’s hair with the other. She sucked in her breath as she felt her head yanked back. “<em>My mouth would’ve taken in every inch—”</em></p><p><em>“I-I’m co—” </em>Jordan managed to gasp; Maggie impulsively bit along his pectorals and he exploded within her, rivulets coursing through every possible crevice of her core. <em>Heavens to Hera</em>, she positively saw stars, as he slowly removed himself from her.</p><p>
  <em>9 pm, Vera Manor, Maggie’s Bedroom</em>
</p><p>Maggie surveyed her sweatshirt-clad self in the mirror. <em>Not bad</em>, she thought to herself. <em>Jordan was right</em>, she mused. <em>From a certain angle, it could pass for a fashionable pajamas dress, if there ever was one.</em></p><p>
  <em>10 am, Vera Manor Kitchen</em>
</p><p>She awoke to the sound of Maya’s knocking. Clad in Jordan’s long sweatshirt, she put on a pair of black leggings to complete the casual-chic look and proceeded down the Vera Manor staircase (followed by Jordan) to where Macy and Harry were waiting. Surprisingly, Harry wasn’t peeved about the trio having made sugary purple unicorn cupcakes with star-shaped sprinkles; he scooped Maya in his arms and snuggling her, muttering something absent-mindedly of how mommy and daddy had <em>such </em>a lovely time in Portugal (<em>behind Maggie and Jordan’s knowing glances</em>), and how he was going to teach his darling little girl how to make clotted cream and scones one day when she was older. Maya had already had half of one of the cupcakes (Aunt Maggie had the other half, and Uncle Jordan had eaten a <em>whole</em> one, she made sure to announce).</p><p>Soon, the threesome of Harry, Macy, and Maya waved their good-byes, orbing back to Epicenter Pico No. 23 in the Azores Islands; Jordan and Maggie, once again, had all of Vera Manor entirely to themselves.</p><p>“I…am <em>SO</em> not ready for kids right now,” Maggie huffed, as she and Jordan collapsed in a heap onto the cool velveteen fabric of the living room sofa.</p><p>“You and me both, Vera,” agreed Jordan. “But I think…”</p><p>“<em>What?” </em>Maggie asked, awaiting his reply.</p><p>“…We <em>might </em>be ready for a kitten?”</p><p>Maggie grinned as she reached beneath Jordan’s sweatshirt to hug him tightly. “<em>Agreed.”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>"Hannah Shaw is a kitten rescuer, humane educator, and New York Times bestselling author who has dedicated her life to finding innovative ways to protect animals. Her project, Kitten Lady, strives to create global change in the way we perceive and treat the tiniest and most vulnerable felines." http://www.kittenlady.org/about</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Emerald Cardigan & Coquito</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>7 Emerald Cardigan &amp; Coquito</p><p>
  <em>“And you’d be standin’ in my front porch light/And I knew you’d come back to me/You’d come back to me…” -Cardigan by Taylor Swift</em>
</p><p>
  <em>10 am, Vera Manor Kitchen</em>
</p><p>“I…am <em>SO</em> not ready for kids right now,” Maggie huffed, as she and Jordan collapsed in a heap onto the cool velveteen fabric of the living room sofa.</p><p>“You and me both, Vera,” agreed Jordan. “But I think…”</p><p>“<em>What?” </em>Maggie asked, awaiting his reply.</p><p>“…We <em>might </em>be ready for a kitten?”</p><p>Maggie grinned as she reached beneath Jordan’s sweatshirt to hug him tightly. “<em>Agreed.”</em></p><p>
  <em>6:45 pm, Next Evening, Vera Manor Garden Patio</em>
</p><p>Over dinner, Jordan and Maggie reviewed the Kitten Lady’s newest Instagram post of a several-weeks-old cream-colored kitten with tawny overtones on the tips of its fur, its almond eyes a startling sterling silver hue. “<em>She’s a little peanut and a glorious unicorn, a total hot mess and also, somehow, perfect,” </em>Maggie quoted directly.</p><p>“Sounds like our kinda kitten, <em>eh, Vera?</em>” Jordan remarked over his beef stew. Maggie nodded.</p><p>“A perfect unicorn hot mess—reminds me of…<em>me</em>,” she said, grinning, scooping up the remnants of stew from her own plate. “<em>Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” </em></p><p>“I think so,” he answered with a smile. “Did it say anything about adoption applications opening up?”</p><p>Maggie shook her head. “I think she’s still too little. Eight weeks old. From what I’ve searched, kittens need to be fully weaned off formula and socialized before they’re adopted out at thirteen weeks.”</p><p>“We still got time, then?” Jordan inquired.</p><p>“Well…” Maggie paused, opening up her notes on a tab within her phone. “We <em>do </em>need to stock up on the bare essentials—cat food, a water bowl, a food bowl, kitty litter, and a kitty litter tray. And nail clippers and a brush. Oh<em>—and </em>we gotta find us a kick-ass cat vet.” She continued scrolling down the list. “Besides that—a bed for said cat. <em>And</em> cat toys. <em>And</em> a fishing line toy for the cat to chase. <em>And</em> a laser pointer…”</p><p>“Whoa, Vera,” laughed Jordan. “One thing at a time. So, uh first things first…<em>essentials. </em>How ‘bout we order those online…tonight?”</p><p>“Thought you’d never ask,” responded Maggie delightedly; Jordan placed his arm around her as they commenced their online perusal beneath the blanket of Vera Manor tealights and stars dotting the evening sky.</p><p>
  <em>7 pm, One Week Later, Vera Manor Garden Patio</em>
</p><p>Vera Manor’s kitchen and living room were slowly becoming cluttered here and there with cat items—the essentials—plus the fishing line toy, the laser pointer, and a starter pack of fifty or so miniature cat toys that came in a clear plastic bag and seemingly doubled as anxiety stress relief fidget toys.</p><p>Besides that, Maggie had done her part to find a reliable, well-rated cat veterinarian in the local area, within ten minutes of Vera Manor.</p><p>
  <em>7:15 pm, Two Weeks Later, Vera Manor Garden Patio</em>
</p><p>Jordan was cooking dinner in the kitchen, bopping his head, jamming to the latest DJ Khaled/Drake hit single “<em>Greece” </em>on his phone when he heard a sudden bloodcurdling shriek emanating from the direction of Vera Manor Garden. Startled, he dropped his spoon in the chili pot and sprinted over, fearing the worst.</p><p>“Vera, <em>what is it?</em>” he asked frantically scanning her body for outward injuries, then noticed that Maggie, <em>perfectly whole by the looks of it</em>, was pointing at the Kitten Lady’s newest post.</p><p>“The kitten application just opened up!” she said, emitting yet another ear-splitting shriek.</p><p>“Oh—<em>Ok! </em>Whew, Vera—” Jordan surveyed his girlfriend, placing a hand on Maggie’s shoulder. “<em>Breathe.”</em></p><p>“I <em>am </em>breathing!” she exclaimed indignantly. “We need to submit our application <em>NOW!”</em></p><p>Jordan shook his head. “Dinner first, <em>then </em>kitten. No decisions while hangry, y’know?”</p><p>“<em>Fine,” </em>Maggie grumbled, crossing her arms in mock-pout as he kissed the top of her forehead, then raced back into the kitchen to check on the slowly simmering chili, nearly burning his fingers as he retrieved the wooden spoon from where it had fallen.</p><p>
  <em>7:30 pm, Vera Manor Garden Patio</em>
</p><p>Jordan had never known Maggie to scarf down her dinner. <em>Until now</em>, he mused sitting next to her, watching her access the kitten application from her phone as she completed the required contact information, age, and other demographic information. <em>Having a house would likely work in their favor</em>, she thought, as she glanced over the residential section. <em>Are all your screens intact and secure? </em>Maggie hadn’t believed Vera Manor to have any screens, but wards and other magical protections were basically the same thing. <em>Right?</em></p><p>Under the personal information category, she read, “<em>tell us the reasons you want a kitten</em>.” She skimmed through the available choices—<em>companion, mouser, gift, </em>et cetera. Now that she thought of it, a place as old as Vera Manor should have had mice, but she’d never once come across one. <em>No to ‘mouser’ then…Gift? </em>Maggie heard that adoption agencies generally frowned on pets given as gifts, since the recipient might not have been aware and thus unable to fully prepare for the responsibilities of pet ownership. <em>Companion. </em>That seemed ok. Jordan appeared satisfied with her answer.</p><p>She moved onto the next questions. <em>How many adults live in your home? </em>She pondered this silently. Mel and Abigael had long since moved in together in New York City, so they definitely weren’t full-time residents. <em>Harry and Macy? </em>They tended to split their time 40-60, or 50-50 between Vera Manor and Epicenter Pico No. 23 in the Azores Islands. <em>And herself and Jordan. If having textbooks, a blue toothbrush, and blackwatch plaid boxers in the house counted for anything. </em>Plus, having four adults for one cat would look good on an application, she figured, as there would always be someone to feed, water, and amuse said creature. “You can put down four, Vera,” Jordan winked, as she felt her cheeks redden.</p><p>The final question was as follows. <em>What describes your house on a daily basis? Active, noisy, quiet, or average? Circle one. </em>She hesitated and showed Jordan the question in full. “I mean,” she began, “it’s not, like, <em>absurdedly </em>loud—”</p><p>“What about the time y’all merged Harry and Jimmy?” Jordan pondered aloud. “That coulda been pretty loud, from what you told me.”</p><p>“True,” Maggie mused. “Not to mention…” she smirked, “Macy and Harry banging so loud we thought a monster was attacking her…”</p><p>“But what about when they danced together? With the music playing? You said it was pretty quiet then,” Jordan posited in response.</p><p>“Ummm….ok. How about <em>average</em>?” Maggie finally asked. Jordan agreed.</p><p>
  <em>Average it was.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>7:45 pm, Five Weeks Later, SafeSpace</em>
</p><p>Maggie heard her phone buzz then looked back up at the presentation. She ducked out of the conference room, fully intending to take the call, but the caller hung up abruptly. She checked the caller’s information. <em>Kitten Lady. </em>She dialed Jordan’s phone, hoping he could follow up with the woman—maybe something happened with their adoption application? “<em>Sure, I’m on it Vera—I’ll reach out right now</em>,” he’d responded in that soothing, steadfast voice of his. Moments later, she walked back into the conference room, considering herself lucky that Jordan was on his day off.</p><p>
  <em>So much had happened in the past couple of weeks.</em>
</p><p>For starters, Jordan was graduating from law school next month. He already had a job lined up as junior attorney with SafeSpace’s Office of General Counsel, spearheading an initiative to bring educational coworking spaces with gyms, health clinics, and subsidized daycare to Seattle’s at-risk population, thereby uniting his three passions—social entrepreneurship, sports therapy, and public interest law.</p><p>Maggie’s work as manager had picked up significantly; she’d received a performance bonus tied to her social ambassador projects as of late that kept her in the office until the wee hours of the night. Concurrently, she aced her psychology courses and had received her diploma via snail mail, which earned her yet <em>another</em> merit-based salary increase.</p><p>
  <em>8:15 pm, Vera Manor, Living Room</em>
</p><p>Maggie snuck out of the conference at the earliest opportunity and was currently pacing about the living room. <em>Where was Jordan? </em>Just then, she heard a knock on the front door. Wondering who it could be at this odd hour, she opened it.</p><p>
  <em>It was Jordan.</em>
</p><p>And a great deal of luggage and other sundry items too. “What’s all this?” Maggie asked, an eyebrow raised.</p><p>“Well…” Jordan began. “I meant to surprise you, but I thought now was as good a time as any. I found a subletter for my apartment and I’m officially moved out—to Vera Manor—here—<em>if you’ll have me?</em>”</p><p>Maggie, shocked, could do little but nod excitedly. <em>Was this really happening? </em>But Jordan continued—he wasn’t quite finished. “Related to that, I met Kitten Lady and her fiancé, they’re <em>super </em>cool. They dropped by unexpectedly and wanted to see if we were ready—”</p><p>“Ready for—?”</p><p>Jordan brought forth a tiny black fabric carrier, from which the softest of mews could be heard. “Our kitten,” he answered softly as Maggie began tearing up. “Consider this a graduation gift and early birthday present?”</p><p>“<em>Y-yes,” </em>she breathed, as she bowled him over with the tightest of bear hugs. Seconds later, without wasting any more time, she quickly disentangled herself from Jordan and helped bring his luggage and the black fabric carrier in, closing and locking the door behind them.</p><p>
  <em>8:39 pm, Vera Manor, Maggie’s Bedroom</em>
</p><p>Once the luggage had been stowed away, the water bowl filled, the litter placed in the requisite tray, and dried fish snacks laid out, Maggie carefully unzipped the black carrier. A tiny purring creature stepped out, its tail curled <em>just </em>so, inspecting its cozy new surroundings, winding itself about Maggie and Jordan's ankles affectionately.</p><p>Maggie motioned for Jordan to take one of his old sweaters, an emerald-colored cardigan, and lay it at the kitten’s miniature bed, feet away, so the creature could become acclimated to the scent of its new human caretakers.</p><p>“<em>Welcome home, Coquito,</em>” whispered Maggie, as Jordan lifted the wriggling creature into her outstretched arms.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Kitten Lady's Instagram quote is from ~7/23/20: "...She's a little peanut and a glorious unicorn, a total hot mess and also, somehow, perfect."</p><p>Note: Kitten Lady encourages kitten adoption in pairs; Coquito was adopted as a single kitten in this story with the assumption said kitty would be kept company by a mix of magical creatures, feline ghost or otherwise ;)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>